Blackout
by Deb3
Summary: 6th in the Fearful Symmetry series: Horatio has amnesia and is lost in Miami, and a gang and Hagen are both after him. Will Calleigh find him in time?
1. Default Chapter

6th in the Fearful Symmetry series. Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, and Honeymoon precede it.  
  
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Don't sue me. I don't own anything except my horse, and I'd fight you to the death for her.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Pairing: H/C  
  
***  
  
"It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness."  
  
***  
  
Calleigh Caine hummed Billy Joel to herself as she finished filling out the ballistics reports. She had been planning this Friday night for weeks, and she was looking forward to it. Wonderful food, awesome music, not to mention the best company in the world. And after all that, they would go home together. She still wanted to pinch herself sometimes, just to prove she wasn't dreaming. Horatio really was her husband. She admired her ring again as she signed at the bottom of the last report. It was too good to be true.  
  
Horatio. A slight shadow of concern crossed her mind. Usually, he only brought a smile to her face, to her whole being, but something was on his mind lately, distracting him when he wasn't totally focused on a case, gnawing in the background of his sleep at night. She understood completely, but it didn't stop the worry. Tonight, in fact, was a deliberate effort to lift him momentarily out of the world and soothe his spirits.  
  
Calleigh filed the paperwork and stood, stretching the stiffness of an afternoon's desk work out of her back. She looked at her watch. A bit early, but hopefully he would be back, if nothing had delayed him. She left Ballistics and headed for the main lab purposefully.  
  
"He's back. Got back about 30 minutes ago." Alexx's warm voice drew Calleigh out of her concentration.  
  
"Sometimes I think you can actually read minds," she protested good- naturedly, smiling at her friend.  
  
"I can if you wear your thoughts painted across your face like a highway sign." She handed Calleigh a file. "I was just going to take him this report, but I'm sure he'd rather see you instead."  
  
"Probably. Nothing personal, you know."  
  
Alexx slipped a little closer to Calleigh in the hallway. "Is he okay? I get the feeling the last few days that something's bothering him."  
  
Calleigh sighed. "It's just next week. He's not looking forward to court."  
  
"Next week?" Alexx tried to mentally plug any of their CSI cases into next week and drew a blank.  
  
"Not CSI. Hagen. Horatio's the star witness."  
  
Alexx understood instantly. The case against former Detective Hagen involved two separate crimes, one the attempted murder of Horatio, the other the systematic betrayal of his fellow officers over the course of four years. Including Horatio's brother, Ray. Hagen had tried to plea bargain, but his crimes disgusted even the usually unflappable prosecuting attorney, and there would be no deal. He was facing full sentencing for all counts, and he had hired the best defense lawyer money could buy. Of course, the evidence was excellent for his being a bad cop and absolutely ironclad for his trying to kill Horatio. Still, Horatio was in for a few bad days on the stand next week. Far worse, he would be forced to relive all of it. And Ray's betrayal was a much deeper wound than Hagen's attack on him.  
  
"He hired Peter Gray, didn't he?"  
  
"Yes." The lawyer whose unofficial motto was "innocence is just a matter of the right price tag." Calleigh often wondered what a CSI style investigation of the top lawyers in the area would turn up. Many were bigger crooks than their clients. "Not that he'll shake Horatio. But the case will."  
  
Alexx smiled sympathetically. "Nothing we can do really except stand by and pick up the pieces."  
  
"Actually," said Calleigh, "I'm going for a frontal attack. Tonight, we're going out to dinner, then to see Billy Joel in concert. A whole night of relaxation. I'll take his mind off that case if it kills me."  
  
"I'm sure you'll manage somehow." They smiled at each other like high school girlfriends. "If you'll give him that chart, I'll head home myself. The kids are at my sister-in-law's tonight. Just the two of us for a cozy little evening ourselves."  
  
"Who's having a cozy little evening?" said Eric, coming up behind them.  
  
"Everyone," said Calleigh. "National cozy little evening night. Haven't you heard? You mean you don't have a date for it?"  
  
"Why, are you looking for one?" She aimed a playful punch at him, deliberately missing.  
  
"I've got a date for the rest of my life," she retorted. "Have a good weekend, Alexx."  
  
"You, too. Hope you can relax."  
  
"We will," Calleigh promised herself. She headed through the main lab and up the stairs to Horatio's office. He was behind his desk, working on paperwork, but he felt her eyes on him as she stopped in the doorway. "Hello, Handsome. Are you ready for tonight?"  
  
He smiled back at her, but his eyes drifted to his watch after a second. "We've still got plenty of time. I really ought to catch up on a few of these files."  
  
"No way." She crossed to his desk and slammed the folder shut. They engaged in a brief tug-of-war. Amazing how much strength was in that slight frame, he thought. He finally won the file back, and she instantly climbed on top of his desk, parking her entire body right on it.  
  
"Calleigh!" It's hard to protest while laughing, though.  
  
"You are not working late tonight. I absolutely forbid it. We're leaving at 5:00, like civilized people."  
  
"How civilized are we?" His attention had shifted fully from the file to her, and his deep velvet voice brought shivers down her spine.  
  
"We'll degenerate throughout the evening," she promised. He held her eyes captive for a moment, then stood up.  
  
"I'll hold you to that."  
  
"I hope you do," she said, honestly. She wondered how the case he had been on that afternoon was going, but having distracted him from work, she didn't want to ask. She scrambled off his desk and joined him by the door. "Work is off-limits tonight," she said. "I forbid it."  
  
He smiled at her, every inch of her slight frame outlined with determination, like a bulldog. He knew perfectly well what she was doing. And he was touched by it. "You're incredible," he said.  
  
She took his hand. "I have to be, to be good enough for you. Now, let's go have fun." She switched out the light as they left his office.  
  
***  
  
The concert was in full swing. Calleigh let her eyes drift from the stage to her husband. He was settled back in his seat, absolutely focused on the music. So far, so good, she thought, and at that instant, the lights went out. Not just the lights, but the sound system, everything. A few screams echoed in the arena. Calleigh automatically fumbled for Horatio's hand and found it. He squeezed hers back.  
  
"Keep calm, everyone." Billy Joel's voice from the front tried to make a joke of it, but without mikes, it did not carry far. A restless shiver passed over the crowd as they waited. Nothing. Calleigh felt Horatio shift beside her, and then she saw the glow of his cell phone as he dialed. "This is Lieutenant Horatio Caine. Is there a power failure in . . . " He broke off, and she felt his attention focus sharply, even in the dark. "How far? Do they know why?" He listened a few more minutes, then broke the connection. "This isn't just Miami. The whole southeast is blacked out, up to Virginia, over to Texas."  
  
"You're kidding!" Calleigh weighed the possibilities. "Terrorism, you think?"  
  
"They don't know anything yet. If it's terrorism, though, something else will happen soon. A blackout is just a nuisance. Terrorists aim bigger."  
  
Employees of the arena had started down the aisles by this time with flashlights. "Please remain calm and exit as quietly as possible." The audience grumbled a bit about missing half the concert, but most of them were cooperative. Horatio leaned over to whisper in Calleigh's ear as they followed the flashlit circle toward the exit. "We'd better get over to headquarters. If this lasts any amount of time at all, they're going to need help tonight." She nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her. He was right. Pickpockets, thieves, all the human rodents of the city's holes would take advantage of the darkness to emerge and gorge themselves on other people's possessions. There would probably be murders in Miami tonight, even. "So much for the concert," she sighed.  
  
"It's over, whether we go in or not," he pointed out. True.  
  
They emerged to an erie sight, one none of the crowd had seen before. Miami was shrouded in darkness. No building lights, no traffic lights. There were headlights, already tangled hopelessly in the intersections. Horatio's mind immediately started ticking off a list as they headed for the Hummer. Place traffic cops at the intersections. Rescue people from elevators. Put guards at the larger stores. Verify that all hospitals and other critical locations had generators. Even as he was thinking through it, by the headlights he saw a teen bump casually into a man walking on the sidewalk ahead. Horatio pounced instantly, catching him in a steel grip before he had a chance to run. "Give the man back his wallet," he said softly, almost politely, but the tone was icy. The teen stared at him for a second, then the eyes fell. He returned the wallet. Horatio made a note of his name and address, to be followed up later, but did not take him in. He had a feeling that the cells would be filled with much worse offenders tonight.  
  
***  
  
"National cozy little evening night," said Eric, raising his Diet Coke in toast to Calleigh as she entered the break room at 2:30 AM. The weak, sickly glow of backup generators filled the labs. It was enough to run the lights but not their current-thirsty lab equipment.  
  
"Shut up," she snapped, wrenching open the fridge to study the warming drinks. She took a bottled water finally, wishing for coffee. "Anything new on the radio yet?"  
  
Eric's joking front dropped instantly. "Nothing. They aren't even sure where it started yet. And when they do get everything sorted out, they'll have to turn it back on slowly, piece by piece, so the system doesn't blow a circuit."  
  
"Meanwhile, no air conditioners." Calleigh pushed back a few damp strands from her forehead. "Remind me why I live in Miami."  
  
"Because we work here," said Horatio from the door. "Minnesota would be too far to commute." She turned back toward him with a grin. Even in generator light, he looked gorgeous, cool and unruffled as always. "At least, it probably isn't terrorism," he went on. "Nothing else has happened. Terrorists would never give us time to regroup. It would be the blackout, then something else, almost immediately. Meanwhile, the captain has put the whole force on emergency status rotations. This looks like at least a few days, probably into next week before it's all clear. We're all going six hours off, six hours on, around the clock. Everyone helps wherever needed. The three of us are off now, then back here at 9:00. Okay?"  
  
"Great," said Eric, standing up. "I always wanted to direct traffic on street corners."  
  
"I've been helping pull people out of elevators," said Calleigh. "Want to trade?"  
  
"What've you been doing, H?" asked Eric.  
  
"I caught a bank robber," said Horatio. "Come on, Calleigh, let's go home." They left the break room, and Eric shook his head as he watched them leave.  
  
"We direct traffic, and he catches a bank robber." Somehow, he wasn't surprised. He got his own car from the garage and headed out into Miami, a ghost city haunted by headlights. When he got to his own apartment, he was too tired to care about the dark. He fumbled through the clutter to find his bed and collapsed. 9:00 would come too early.  
  
***  
  
6:30 definitely came too early. Calleigh rolled over and reached for Horatio, only to find the other side of the bed empty. She got up instantly and went looking for him, finding him by the back sliding glass window, watching the sunrise over the beach. Walking up behind him, she wound both arms around his waist, locking them over his stomach. He jumped slightly at her touch, showing how far lost in thought he was. "That night was too short anyway," she said. "Why make it shorter?"  
  
"I just wanted to watch the sunrise." He didn't look at her, though.  
  
"You didn't want to disturb me." It wasn't a question.  
  
"Well, no point in keeping us both awake. You were tired." She had been, but she could have kicked herself for not noticing his absence earlier. No, on second thought, she could have kicked him.  
  
"Horatio, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't want to be sleeping when you can't." She squeezed him tightly. "I'm sorry last night didn't go like we planned."  
  
"And you're always telling me to stop apologizing for things I can't help." She realized how ridiculous that had sounded. She was sorry, though. Not for the blackout, but that he hadn't gotten the break he needed. She had wanted so much to strip some of the stress from him before this next week.  
  
Wait a minute. Maybe she still could. "Horatio, let's go running."  
  
"What?"  
  
She pulled him away from the window. "Come on, it's light enough now. We've got time before we have to be back at work. A good hard run is worth at least a few hours sleep." He still hesitated. "What's wrong, think you can't keep up with me?"  
  
That brought the quirky smile she loved. The idea of him, with his long legs and graceful stride, struggling to keep up with her was funny. They loved to run together, but Calleigh, as fiercely competitive as she was, had to concede that he was faster. She took two steps to every one of his.  
  
They dressed quickly, him in the midnight blue sweats she had given him for his birthday, which he loved because they had pockets. "Wonder what else has happened in the night," he said as they changed.  
  
"We'll find out soon enough. Last night, we got the crooks. Today, we'll get the annoyed citizens. No credit card readers, no electronic registers."  
  
"No Internet," he added. "No ATMs."  
  
"Oh, hell!" Calleigh instantly became one of the annoyed citizens. "I'm out of cash. I meant to get some from the ATM last night."  
  
"Come on, Cal." He gripped her arm playfully. "Let's go work off some of that stress you're carrying." He grabbed his wallet and his keys and started out the door already at a trot. With a smile, she chased him down the sidewalk. Boy, did he look gorgeous in that color. Which was why she had given it to him.  
  
They had just settled into an even run when her cell phone rang. With a groan, she stopped and flipped it open. "Calleigh Caine." The name still hadn't grown old, and she was lost momentarily in the pleasure of answering the phone that way.  
  
"Calleigh?" It was Eric. "Could you come over here?"  
  
"Over where? To your apartment?"  
  
"Yeah. Soon as you can."  
  
"Eric, what's wrong?"  
  
"Just come over here. Please. And don't bring H." He hung up before she could ask anything more.  
  
Horatio had his head cocked slightly, his eyes curious. "What's wrong with Eric?"  
  
"He wouldn't say. Nothing much, probably. Why don't you go ahead and have a good run? I'll meet you at CSI." Why on earth shouldn't she bring Horatio with her? Still, she knew Eric had a reason for asking.  
  
"If something's wrong, I want to help."  
  
"He said it wasn't important," she lied. "Go ahead, Horatio. You can get a better run without me, anyway."  
  
He still hesitated. "You sure?"  
  
"I'm sure." She gave him a quick hug. "Go ahead, I'll tell Eric you're thinking of him. We'll both see you at CSI." He started off again, instantly accelerating, picking up a much sharper pace now. He had been holding back for her. Running himself hard would do him a world of good. She watched him for a second fondly, then started to turn back.  
  
Oh, hell. "Horatio!" Her voice lassoed him, and he stopped, looking back. "I forgot my keys. Left them in the house."  
  
"Here." He fished his wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to her. "Spare house key inside it. Just leave it on the table for me. I've still got my keys. And you can split the cash in there, too."  
  
"You think of everything," she said admiringly.  
  
"I try. See you later, Cal." He started off again.  
  
"See you." In spite of Eric's call, she stood there watching Horatio until he was out of sight. Then, slowly, she turned back.  
  
***  
  
Eric's usually fun-loving expression was dead serious. "It's gone," he said the minute he opened the door for Calleigh.  
  
"What's gone?" She followed him in, then stopped dead. Eric's apartment was usually cluttered, but this was ridiculous. "You've been robbed!"  
  
"Yeah. I didn't notice coming in last night - this morning - in the dark." His eyes met hers. "They took my medal, Calleigh."  
  
"You mean the one Horatio . . ."  
  
"Yes. My gold medal. Some other stuff, too, but the medal . . . how am I going to tell H?"  
  
"Eric, it's not your fault. He can't blame you for being robbed."  
  
"I didn't even notice. I just came in and went to bed."  
  
"A lot of people were probably robbed last night and didn't notice until this morning. That medal is inscribed. Totally traceable. We've got to file a report. Alert the pawn shops. I bet they'll spot it right away."  
  
Eric refused to be comforted. "They'll probably melt it down. And if I did tell H, he'd offer to replace it. I can't tell him I lost that one."  
  
"Eric, you didn't lose it, it was stolen." Calleigh pulled him to his feet. "Horatio will understand. And you have to file a report. Come on, let's get down to the station."  
  
He followed her slowly. "Will you tell him, though? I can't."  
  
"I'll tell him," she promised. "Soon as I see him."  
  
***  
  
Calleigh and Eric got to CSI about 9:15. It had taken a while to file the report across the compound at police headquarters. She went up to Horatio's office, but it was empty. Maybe the captain already sent him out on some assignment, she thought. She did encounter Speed in the lab, looking like he had slept there all night.  
  
"Morning. Have you seen Horatio?"  
  
"Nope, he's not in yet."  
  
She frowned. "He's late? He's never late. Maybe he was early, and you just missed him."  
  
"Believe it or not, I was early myself, Calleigh. The bike is great through the traffic jams." That explained his wind-tossed appearance, at least. "I got here at 8:30. Trust me, he's not here yet."  
  
Calleigh felt a small stab of worry. Only 15 minutes, but it was totally unlike him. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed his. Nothing. It rang 12 times. She tried again, thinking she might have misdialed. There was no answer. "Speed, can I borrow your bike?"  
  
"What?" He straightened up suddenly.  
  
"Faster through the traffic jams, like you said. I'm going back home to check on Horatio. He's not answering his phone."  
  
Speed considered. That was even more odd than his being late. "Why didn't you come in together?" he wondered out loud.  
  
"Eric had . . . um, something to show me, and Horatio was going out for a run. That was at 7:00. We were going to meet here at 9:00."  
  
Speed pushed himself to his feet. "I'll give you a lift over there. If you don't mind riding double."  
  
"Thanks, Tim." She gave his arm a squeeze, but her eyes weren't even seeing him, he knew. "Let me tell Eric where we're going. He can give a message to the captain."  
  
***  
  
The bike was, indeed, great in the traffic, and Calleigh was glad that the police were otherwise occupied. She didn't object to the speed, though. She would have gladly gone faster. When she unlocked their house, she knew instantly that he hadn't been there. His wallet was still on the table where she had left it for him. That brought another realization.  
  
"Oh, God, Speed, he doesn't have his ID with him. If he's been in an accident or something, no one would know who he is!" Her mind replayed that last scene again. Such a casual move, tossing his wallet to her. Because she had forgotten her key. You idiot, she thought, how could I possibly have let him go off into the city without ID?  
  
"Easy, now." Speed's voice was comforting, but she refused to be comforted.  
  
"He could be dying somewhere. He could have been run over by a car, or killed catching a criminal. He doesn't have his gun, either." All the possibilities paraded through her mind.  
  
"Calleigh, sit down and start thinking." The sternness in Speed's voice reached her, and she sat down obediently. "Now, we can call all the hospitals. And most of the police force would recognize him. There are police all over the city today. Let's get the word out. I'm sure he's okay." Speed wasn't sure at all, though. The more he thought about it, the worse it looked. If Horatio wasn't answering his phone, something was badly wrong.  
  
***  
  
The captain met them at the door of headquarters, after they made an even faster trip back on the bike. "I've been checking since I got your call," he said. "No officer has reported seeing him, although we're still asking. There's one report from late last night that wasn't noticed, though."  
  
"Late last night?" He had been fine at 7:00 this morning. What did late last night have to do with it?  
  
The captain's face was grim. "There was an accident shortly after the blackout. It involved a traffic signal that wasn't working. A transport van was struck by two other vehicles, and both the driver and the guard were seriously injured. The back lock was broken in the collision, and I'm afraid the prisoners escaped in the confusion."  
  
Calleigh's heart stopped. "What prisoners?"  
  
"Four being transported into the main unit for trial next week. One of them was John Hagen." He actually backed up a step at the fury in her eyes.  
  
"Hagen? He escaped at 9:00 last night, and no one even thought to tell Horatio?"  
  
"I'm sorry," he offered lamely. "In all the crimes last night, the report didn't make it to my attention."  
  
Calleigh honestly thought of attempted murder herself. Speed, next to her, put a hand on her arm, ready to hold her back if she charged. The scales teetered for a moment in her mind, but killing the captain would not help Horatio. She forced herself past the oversight. For now. "We still need to call the hospitals," she said. "It might not have anything to do with Hagen."  
  
"Of course," said the captain. "You CSIs focus on this case today. I won't give you any other assignments." Big of you, thought Calleigh. "But I don't think we'd better put out a general public alert for him. The police, yes, but not the media."  
  
"Why not?" Calleigh wanted to broadcast his description across the sky in fireworks. The more people looking, the better.  
  
"If Hagen isn't involved, we'd be notifying him that there's a problem. He'd be after Horatio himself in a second if he thinks he might be hurt."  
  
Calleigh reluctantly nodded. "You're right. But every single officer should be told. And I'll call the hospitals myself." She turned for the CSI building, eager to start calling.  
  
"I'm sure we'll find him," the captain called after her.  
  
"No thanks to you," she muttered, still furious. Speed, trailing in her wake, heard the comment and cringed. When all this was over, Calleigh might well kill the captain.  
  
***  
  
She sat in his office, behind his desk, the chair swallowing her tiny frame. She was on the phone with another hospital. "6 feet tall, red hair, blue eyes. He was wearing midnight blue sweats. He's got a slightly jagged scar down his right temple and another one on his left ankle." She sighed. "No, he didn't have any ID on him at all. Well, keep an eye out. Call me anytime." She hung the phone up savagely.  
  
"No luck?" Alexx's concerned voice came from the door.  
  
"Nothing. I've still got several to go, though." She suddenly noticed the steaming cups Alexx was holding. "Alexx, where did you get hot coffee?" The power-driven water pumps for the city weren't working, of course.  
  
"I have my ways."  
  
"Thanks." Calleigh gulped down half the cup, not even noticing that it burned her tongue. Alexx set the other one on the desk, and Calleigh raised an eyebrow over her cup.  
  
"They're both for you." She walked around beside the desk and gave Calleigh's arm a squeeze. "I'm calling people myself, officers who were on duty this morning. We'll find him."  
  
Calleigh picked up the second cup of coffee, down to sipping instead of gulping. "This last few months has been like a dream, Alexx. I kept waiting for it to end."  
  
"It's not ending," Alexx insisted. "If the roles were switched, would he give up on you?"  
  
Calleigh straightened up slightly, remembering their honeymoon. No one at CSI knew all the details of that one. Still, she remembered how Horatio had pursued her. She could do no less. "No, he wouldn't. You're right, I'll keep calling." She paused with her hand halfway to the phone, though. "And you know, Alexx, somehow, I don't think he's dead. I think I'd feel it if he was dead. But something is wrong. Badly wrong."  
  
Alexx gave her shoulder another squeeze. "Keep me posted. We'll find him."  
  
"I will," Calleigh promised. Alexx left, and Calleigh picked up the phone, dialing the next number on her list. While she was waiting for an answer, she looked around his office. The modern, efficient but comfortable furniture. The two pictures on his desk, one of him with his mother and brother, the other from their honeymoon, the two of them in front of Niagara Falls. So much of his presence flavored this office. Everything was here but the man himself. Horatio, she thought desperately, where are you? 


	2. Blackout 2

"I have been one acquainted with the night."  
  
Robert Frost  
  
***  
  
He opened his eyes slowly and squinted painfully against the bright sun. He should have sunglasses - but he didn't. They were gone. He pushed up to a seated position and took mental inventory of himself and his surroundings. He had a sore spot on the back of his head, and his probing hand found a tender lump. No blood on his fingers, though. It hadn't broken the skin. Just knocked him out for a while, apparently. He had a headache, but not too bad, and his vision was perfectly clear, so he doubted there was a concussion. He looked at his right arm again. There was blood there, but not from his head. A red line, still oozing, ran down his forearm. Classic defense wound against a knife, a knife wielded by a left-handed attacker. He had been mugged, two of them, one in front, with a knife, the other sneaking up behind, to hit him over the head.  
  
He looked around the alley. He was along a brick building at one side and was mostly hidden by a trash dumpster in front of him. The sounds of the uneasy city reached him, chaotic, horns honking, curses, policemen's whistles. He scrambled to his feet, reassured by the steadiness of the ground beneath him, the strength in his legs. Could have been much worse, he thought. People get mugged and come out with a lot more damage.  
  
His head came up alertly and tilted slightly. New sounds split from the city rumble at the end of the alley. Running feet, young, light-bodied feet, coming toward him. Not running from high spirits, but running from fear. He stepped out suddenly, and the boy charging blindly down the alley ran straight into him. "Easy there." The soothing voice reached the child through his panic, and he looked up, recognizing a friend, feeling the calm strength in those hands. "What's wrong?"  
  
"There's two men after me." The boy was probably about 10, with a thin face and lost eyes that went straight to his rescuer's heart. "They saw me buy a Coke. They wanted my money, but I ran."  
  
More feet pounded down the alley. Two older teens came purposefully toward them, noting the reinforcements, but not caring. "Like I said, gimme your money. You, too, pops. Let's have it." The punk brandished a knife threateningly.  
  
"I don't think you want to do that." The voice was calm, civil, but the blue eyes actually made the leader pause. His friend saw it.  
  
"You scared, Jake?"  
  
Denial flooded through every inch of Jake's frame. "Just giving them a chance to do it the easy way. Chance is over." The knife darted toward the pair.  
  
Two young punks face-to-face was a totally different situation from more professional muggers, one in front, one behind. "I did warn you." He sidestepped and lunged at the same moment as the knife stabbed. His iron grip closed around Jake's hand, hitting the sensitive nerve points strategically. Jake crumpled to his knees with a gasp, the knife falling from nerveless fingers. His partner immediately turned and ran, his retreating footsteps echoing down the alley.  
  
"I didn't mean nothing," Jake managed. The glare from the eyes almost hurt worse than the grip that paralyzed his hand. His captor put one foot across the knife, then, almost reluctantly, released his grip. Jake didn't care about the knife. He whipped around and bolted himself, breaking his partner's record for the alley dash on his way out.  
  
The boy stood in open-mouthed admiration. "How'd you do that?"  
  
"Basic anatomy. Put pressure on the right places, and it knocks the defiance out of anybody. I'll show you sometime, especially if you're going to be out on the streets alone." He held out his hand with a friendly grin. "What's your name?"  
  
"Ben." They shook hands. "What's yours?"  
  
The grin faded abruptly. "I . . . I don't know."  
  
"What?" Ben was puzzled. His eyes suddenly followed the hand he had just taken, up to the arm. "You're hurt."  
  
"I was mugged, I think. One in front with a knife - that's a classic defense wound - and one behind who hit me over the head."  
  
Ben nodded wisely. "Sometimes you forget stuff when you're hit over the head. I've seen it in the movies. It comes back, though." His eyes went back to the cut, still bleeding slowly. "You aren't gonna die, are you?"  
  
"From this? No way. It might need a few stitches, but it didn't hit anything major. And the bump on my head isn't even that bad."  
  
"I've got a motel room close to here," Ben offered. "You could clean it up there. You did save me, you know. I should help you out."  
  
"I probably ought to go to the police." He was surprised at the boy's instant reaction.  
  
"We can't go to the police. I'm not supposed to have anything to do with them. Zack said." He dropped his new friend's hand and backed away. "I can't help you if you're going to the police."  
  
He studied the boy curiously. Why did he suddenly feel that the kid needed his help? "Okay, we won't go to the police," he said. "On second thought, your motel room sounds like a great idea."  
  
Ben relaxed and came closer again. "Fine, this way." He turned toward the far end of the alley, not the one heading for the main street.. "I'm starting to learn my way around, and I've only been here two days."  
  
"So you're new to Miami?" Miami, he thought. Yes, he knew that this was Miami, even if it didn't sound right today. "What's a 10-year-old doing with a motel room?"  
  
Ben's chin came up defiantly. "I'm 11. I'm just small for my age, Zack says."  
  
"Sorry, 11. About that room . . . "  
  
"Zack rented it. He's my brother. He's 17."  
  
"Where are your parents?"  
  
Tears welled up in Ben's eyes. "They died. Zack said we'd do better here in the city. He'll get a job. We'll get a place, too."  
  
"You mean you're all alone?" That went straight to his heart with an intensity that stunned him. All alone. Yes, he knew that feeling. Absolutely. The details were gone, but the memory of what it felt like was there.  
  
"No," said Ben, "I've got Zack. He's got me." His quivering chin betrayed him, though. Measuring himself and his brother against the largeness of the world, he did feel like they were alone. He fell silent.  
  
The city felt totally wrong today, like a derailed train. He knew Miami's usual pulse, remembered that much, and this wasn't it. His gaze swept the first major street they crossed, and he instantly put it together. "There's no power."  
  
Ben jumped on the diversion immediately. "Yeah, it went out last night. All over this part of the country. It's not just Florida."  
  
"Do they know why?"  
  
"No. I haven't got a radio, but I heard one a little while ago, up on the street. They're still trying to figure it out."  
  
He frowned slightly, sorting the possibilities. "It can't be terrorism. There would have been an attack before now if it's been off all night. Lightning? Power surges? But the system is supposed to have safeguards. The scale is too large here. I can't think of a single cause that should create that far-reaching an effect."  
  
"You talk funny sometimes, you know it? Here we are." They had arrived at a scruffy-looking motel, and Ben unlocked the door to the room. "The bathroom's in there, and I think I saw a first aid kit." He followed his friend into the bathroom, then back out to the bed next to the window, where the light was better, and watched, half repelled, half intrigued, as the cut was carefully cleaned and inspected.  
  
"Classic defense wound," he said again. "Short bladed knife, probably a switchblade. And the attacker was left-handed. I was focused on him. I didn't know there was another one behind me." The bleeding had almost stopped, but the edges gaped slightly. "This really needs a few stitches."  
  
"We can't go to anybody, I told you. No police. No hospitals. Zack said they'd split us up if anyone knew. Then I would be alone." Ben's voice was desperate. "Can't you just tape it together or something?"  
  
He studied the cut. "I can try." He used the small roll of medical tape to run a few circles clear around his forearm, pulling the gash together. Not ideal first aid, but it seemed to hold, and the edges lined up again. He studied it for a minute, then added a gauze pad across the length of the cut and taped it down. He opened and closed his fingers, testing. No tendon or nerve damage. Just a simple cut. "I think it might hold, at that."  
  
"You could go to a hospital by yourself," said Ben, "but I can't go. I promised Zack. No one can know."  
  
"I think it's fine." He didn't want to leave the kid. Not just because he was the one familiar face now, but some deeper instinct warned him that something wasn't right here, that Ben needed help even more than he himself did. "Now, let's see what we can figure out about me." He had a set of keys in his pocket but nothing else. "The muggers must have taken my wallet. I know I had sunglasses, too." Something else was missing as well, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Something usually as much a part of him as his wallet, but the memory, like the reality, had been stolen. He picked up the keys, looking at them. The key ring had a flat ebony disk on it with a silver H in the middle.  
  
"H," mused Ben. "Maybe that's your initial or something. Sound familiar?"  
  
H. "In a way. It's familiar, but it's not quite right." He ran it through his mind, his head tilted slightly again. H. Yes, he knew that, but it was incomplete. What was the rest? He was grasping at shadows, and the effort of trying to remember was bringing back the headache. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lump on the back of his head again, using his left hand, the unbandaged one.  
  
"You okay?" Ben's voice was worried.  
  
"Just got a headache. Not surprising. I don't think I'm really hurt." He took his hand away from the back of his head, then paused as the gold glittered in the light. "I'm married." He turned the ring on his finger, trying to remember her name. Her face. Anything. Again, he could remember the feeling, like he could remember being alone. A totally different feeling, though. Warm like sunlight, internal sunlight, running through his veins, full of radiant power. Yes, he still knew her soul. But all of the details were lost. He closed his eyes again.  
  
"H?" The eyes came open instantly, responding automatically to the name. "Why don't you lie down a while? You look a little odd."  
  
"I'm fine," he insisted, and was caught up again in the familiarity of it. He had used that line before, he was sure. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn't hurt to lie down a bit. He was exhausted suddenly. He glanced at his watch. The muggers must have been interrupted; they hadn't taken the watch or his ring. Only 9:00 AM. Why did he feel like he had been up all night? "On second thought, maybe I will."  
  
"Maybe you can dream it back," Ben suggested. "It happens that way sometimes. In the movies, anyway."  
  
"Maybe so." Maybe he would dream of his wife, the woman of golden sunlight. Maybe he could see her face. He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. H, he thought hazily. He had responded automatically. Yes, that was familiar. But he knew suddenly that she didn't call him that. What did she call him? What did he call her? She would be worried about him. But the boy needed help; he was more sure of that every minute. He tried to send a mental message toward her, through whatever connection they shared. I'm fine, he thought. I'll find my way back to you. But I have to help Ben, too. His consciousness dissolved into shadows. Golden shadows.  
  
Ben sat in the chair in the room, watching his new friend. His mind was running through a different set of questions. What am I going to tell Zack? Did he find a job? Biggest of all were the questions he wouldn't - couldn't - let himself ask. What if we can't make it like he says? What's going to happen to us then? Eventually, though, he fell asleep himself, resting in the presence of someone strong and capable, sleeping soundly for the first time since he and Zack had run away.  
  
***  
  
"Thank you. Let me know if anything does turn up." Calleigh broke the phone connection to the last hospital on her list and just sat there for a second. No hospital or clinic in the city had seen any patient whose description came even close. And even without ID, Horatio was memorable. She was sure he hadn't been overlooked. No, he really wasn't at any of those places. It was now 1:00 PM, six hours since he had jogged away from her and been swallowed up whole by the city. No innocent explanation was possible any longer, even if it had been earlier. That left only two possibilities (actually three, but her mind refused to consider the third one). Either he had been captured by Hagen or some other criminal, or he was hurt but could not get to help. What a choice. She wasn't sure which one frightened her more. She looked at the picture on his desk from their honeymoon again. He had told her that Niagara Falls was like love - driving, powerful, unstoppable. I won't stop either, she told herself fiercely. I will find him. She stood up with a surge of determination and jumped when her cell phone rang. Then she stared at it for a second, afraid of what it might want to tell her. It rang again, and she hit the button, annoyed with herself for the delay. "Calleigh Caine."  
  
"Calleigh, it's Adele." A voice full of warm sympathy, but also underlying excitement. Definite excitement. "I've found somebody who saw Horatio this morning."  
  
"When? Where? Who?" The questions fired out so fast that the words tangled.  
  
"About 7:30, he says. One of the officers on emergency duty this morning, directing traffic. He's off at the moment. I woke him up calling, in fact. But he definitely remembers him, says they talked for a while. I'm on my way over to his house. Meet me in the garage in five minutes."  
  
Calleigh let out the breath she had been holding. "Thanks, Adele. I'm on my way." She practically ran out of the office, still worried but elated, too. 7:30. They had cut 30 minutes out of that blank space. And the more they whittled at it, the closer they would come to finding him. She nearly ran over Speed in the hall.  
  
"Any news?"  
  
"Some. Adele's found an officer who saw him at 7:30. We're going over to talk to him now."  
  
"Good luck. Let me know." She was already gone. She hadn't asked if he wanted to come, but Speed had an idea of his own he wanted to follow. He headed into the lab purposefully, missing the comforting hum of all their machines. Still, all he needed to analyze this evidence was his cell phone. It was Horatio's cell phone that started him thinking. If it had been taken by the people who had taken him, of course they wouldn't answer incoming calls, but a top model cell phone was too valuable to toss away lightly, especially in a blackout. They might have made calls out on it, using it for free minutes. This was Speed's kind of lead, small but significant details which could lead straight to the people who had H. He wasn't as good as Calleigh with people or as good as Horatio at seeing the big picture, but he could chew every ounce of value out of individual clues. If anyone had made a call on that phone since 7:00, he would find out who they called, and that could lead back to who they were. He looked up the number for the phone company, getting far enough out of the blackout to talk to someone with a working database.  
  
***  
  
Officer Clark sat on the couch in his living room next to his wife, and Adele took the armchair across from him. Calleigh, too restless to sit anywhere, paced in barely restrained hope and worry. "I was directing traffic in the intersection when he came up. 7:30 on the nose, by his watch, actually. I asked him what time it was, because my watch had stopped, and he stopped running and stood there with me for a minute. Talking about the blackout and the night and such. He was absolutely fine then, seemed like himself."  
  
"Which intersection?" Adele wrote it down in her notebook, and Calleigh figured distances. A good long run, in excellent time. In fact, Horatio would have had enough of a run at that point that he would be thinking about turning around, especially since he should have been at CSI at 9:00.  
  
"Which way did he go when he left you?" she asked. "Back the way he came?"  
  
Clark hesitated. "No, he went east."  
  
East? He had come from the south, heading north. She could understand continuing or going back, but why on earth would he change course entirely? "Are you sure?"  
  
"Positive. He went east. In fact, it was odd. That's what he said himself."  
  
"That something was odd?" Adele took over the questioning again.  
  
"Right. He'd just said he'd be heading back, had to get ready for work. Just then, one of the citizens came up to me. You know, the ones who think that you should personally have all the answers and that things are inconveniencing them more than anyone. So she was lighting into me, and H started to turn around and just melt off, leave me to it." He grinned in remembrance. He'd resented it, and in Horatio's position, he would have done the same thing. "Right as he turned away, he checked, and then he said, `That's odd. He shouldn't be here.' I was tied up with the lady, trying not to be rude, you know, but I looked around out of the corner of my eye. Couldn't see anything strange myself, but he headed off east. That's the last I saw of him."  
  
"How did he say it?" Adele asked. "What tone?"  
  
"Like he was talking to himself. Curious. Not really worried, but curious."  
  
"And you have no idea what he saw?" Calleigh hoped the answer would change.  
  
"No. Sorry I'm not more help." Clark looked tired, and Calleigh suddenly remembered he, like the rest of them, was working emergency shifts around the clock. He had interrupted his few hours of sleep, though, to talk to them.  
  
"You have helped, a lot," she said. "Thank you."  
  
"I hope you find him."  
  
"We will," promised Adele. "We'll let you get back to sleep now. Thank you again." They left the house and got back into Adele's car. She didn't start it right away, though. "What do you think?" she asked Calleigh.  
  
Calleigh frowned in concentration. "I don't think it was Hagen he saw. I just can't imagine Horatio seeing him unexpectedly, loose on the street, and only calling it odd. And he was standing right next to an officer. He would have said something."  
  
Adele nodded. "That's how I see it. Maybe one of the others? There were three other prisoners who escaped. Maybe someone he'd seen before but just a small-time criminal."  
  
"Hagen still could have been around a corner."  
  
"Could have, but he's more a loner. I think he'd split off, even if the other three stuck together. And the whole thing had to be pure coincidence. Not a trap. Who could have known H would be there just then?"  
  
"Let's go look at that intersection," said Calleigh. Adele started the car and pulled out.  
  
"Maybe he saw someone but wasn't sure if he should be in jail still. He knows a lot more criminals by sight than he knows exact sentence dates for. Especially if it wasn't one of his cases."  
  
"Maybe," said Calleigh. "It had to be someone he didn't really think was a threat, though. He's independent, but he's not stupid. Standing right next to an officer, he would have called for help if he thought he needed it." She stared at the road, willing it to move by faster. "This once, he must have been wrong, though." Adele took one hand off the wheel to give Calleigh's wrist a light squeeze, then focused on the road again.  
  
***  
  
John Hagen sat in his own rented scruffy motel room (rented under a false name, of course), thinking out his strategy. The blackout was a godsend, enabling his escape, then restricting the media that could have made his freedom very short. Hagen had been a cop himself for many years, enough to know what would happen. The looting, the vandalism, all of it was a perfect diversion from one man who only wanted one thing. And from the sound of things on the radio, things weren't likely to return to normal until after the weekend.  
  
The shock of the last several months had changed him. The guards had kept him separated from the main population, but jail had still been an education for Hagen. The claustrophobic tightening of his throat every time he heard a door slam into its lock, the pure indignity of having to face the contempt he saw in the guards' eyes, the sudden shift from building his own private (very private) retirement fund, as he thought of it, to a bare cell. And on top of all that, bail had been denied, and the DA refused to plea bargain. Horatio had turned his entire effort toward decoding Chaz's notebook, and Hagen found himself with very little unique information to offer. Between Horatio, the notebook, and several other crooks facing their own trials who lined up to strike plea bargains against him, there wasn't enough left for Hagen to make a deal with. For months, he had sat there with nothing else to think of except revenge.  
  
He had heard of the wedding through the grapevine. So Horatio now not only had put him away, but he had Calleigh. Hagen had wanted Calleigh himself, as much as he wanted any woman, but she had done the unforgivable. She hadn't needed him. On the Kerner case, she had politely, almost condescendingly accepted his bodyguard efforts, then shaken him off and taken Kerner down herself. Hagen was used to women being impressed by him. He wanted a woman to admire him. Calleigh had been not cold but, worse, indifferent. She wasn't indifferent to Horatio, though. Hagen had seen the look in her eyes when he tried to warn her against Horatio, heard the tone in her voice every time she mentioned his name.  
  
They had beaten him. Both of them. She had beaten his pride, and Horatio had beaten his freedom and authority. Hagen, facing full charges, including attempted homicide and several counts of accessory to homicide related to his life as a bad cop, knew that he faced a sentence stretching decades. His life was over. The lawyer had assured him they would win, that the evidence could be gotten around, that he could break Horatio on the stand, but Hagen knew better. Horatio would win, like he always had won. Hagen could never commit suicide, not directly, anyway, but he would rather die than spend decades in prison. Prison would be even worse than the holding jail. And then the blackout had come, the heaven-sent opportunity.  
  
He would take advantage of it. Even if he failed, he would make sure he died in the attempt. And if he was successful, his crimes would jump straight onto the capital list, and his life would end in months with the knowledge of sweet revenge, not dragged out through years surrounded by steel bars and the contempt of those who once called him a friend. Lifting a few wallets had given him money, and the money had given him means. Hagen made a vow to himself as he sat in his motel room cleaning his newly acquired gun and plotting exactly how to kill Horatio and Calleigh. For them, this blackout would be permanent.  
  
***  
  
Zack, 17, desperately afraid and desperately trying to hide it, paused in the parking lot of the motel, giving himself a minute to put on some confidence to show Ben. Today hadn't been a good day job hunting. The blackout was too much of a disruption. Zack knew he would need more money soon, though; his savings would only take them so far. The only thing to sell would be his car. He gave it a pat on the fender. Just a beat up old Pinto, but his parents had given it to him for his 16th birthday. His parents. His mind instantly slammed that door, refusing to go there. He would hate losing the car. But for Ben, if he had to, he would sell it. He would take care of his brother. It was all up to him now.  
  
It suddenly occurred to him that Ben might have heard the car pull up and wonder what was keeping him. Zack pasted on a false smile and opened the door, then stopped dead. He didn't see Ben, but a strange man was stretched out full length on the bed. Zack looked at the number on the room door, checking. Yes, this was it. Where had this man come from, and where had Ben gone?  
  
He closed the door and walked across the worn carpet for a closer look, trying to be quiet. The man never stirred. Tall, lean, and wiry, with a face that was a roadmap of character. Who the hell was this?  
  
Ben, in the chair with its back to the door, shifted in his sleep, and Zack spotted him with relief. He studied his brother for a minute. He's lost some weight, he thought. Worrying too much. I've got to take better care of him. Squaring his shoulders, Zack made a new vow to take charge. Starting now. He turned back to the intruder and hit him lightly on the shoulder, ready to kick him out of their room and out of their lives. Whoever he was, they didn't need him.  
  
Zack never totally understood the next sequence of events. One minute he was on his feet, waking up this stranger, the next he was pinned on the bed himself, held captive by two blue lasers that scanned him. He barely felt the hands for the eyes.  
  
"H!" Ben bolted out of his chair. "Let him go, H. It's okay. This is Zack."  
  
The man backed off instantly, and the laser light flickered and died. Zack stayed where he was for a second, then slowly sat up, still keeping a wary eye on the stranger. "I'm sorry," the redhead said, in a quiet, deep voice. "You startled me, waking me up like that."  
  
Zack looked him up and down. This man was the same one who had been asleep on the bed. The man of a few seconds ago, the one who had pinned him with no more effort than swatting a fly, had disappeared. And that was almost more frightening than if he had stayed. Zack was caught off guard, wondering which one he would have to deal with. "My fault," he admitted finally. "I wasn't thinking." He swung his legs over to the floor. "Who are you?"  
  
The blue eyes unfocused, looking far past him. "I don't know," came the answer finally.  
  
"Didn't you remember anything sleeping?" asked Ben.  
  
"A few bits, but not my name." He knew now that his wife really did have golden hair, but he hadn't been able to see the face. Her voice on the edges of the dreams had been familiar, an easy Southern drawl, but he hadn't quite been able to make the words out. It was the center of his dreams that shook him, though. Explosions, murders, bodies, bombs, weapons, in graphic detail. What kind of life had he led, to know so much detail about destruction? It went far beyond anything he had picked up from movies and books.  
  
"Are you feeling better, at least?"  
  
He smiled at Ben, a warm smile that somehow relaxed Zack a bit, too. "Yes, I am. Much better. You're right; I did need some down time."  
  
Zack sorted through this conversation. "You don't remember who you are?" The stranger shook his head. "How did you get here?"  
  
"I brought him," Ben said. "I found him this morning. He saved me from getting mugged." He told the morning's adventure, and Zack felt himself warming up to the man a bit. He returned the smile from earlier.  
  
"Thanks for helping Ben. H, did you say?"  
  
"That's from the keys." He pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over. Zack looked at the keys, not the disk.  
  
"Those aren't all house and car keys. I wonder what they go to. Serious locks on something."  
  
"When I find out, I'll let you know." They smiled at each other again. This man did not seem condescending to him, unlike most of the people Zack had talked to lately. He felt himself relax slightly for the first time in days. Suddenly, he jumped up and retrieved the bag he had dropped by the door.  
  
"Anybody hungry? Here's the best we can get in no-prepare food. Also a flashlight and batteries, for later."  
  
"Any news on the blackout?" asked H.  
  
"Just theories. They say it will probably be Monday before everyone is back on. They're still deciding what happened." Zack pulled out the contents of the sack with a flourish, feeling almost light-hearted suddenly. "Meanwhile, we have peanut butter and a whole loaf of bread. And bottled water." All of them were hungry, and they quickly worked through a stack of sandwiches.  
  
"How much cash do we have left, Zack?" Ben's voice was anxious.  
  
"Plenty. And I'll get a job, too, as soon as this blackout is over. We'll be fine." Ben still looked worried, though, and H saw it.  
  
"I'm not helping out much," he apologized. "I've got even less money than you do." Ben giggled, and Zack looked at him gratefully.  
  
"Maybe we can find your wallet," said Ben hopefully. "We'd know who you are then, too. There's lots of stuff you can find on the street. Look what I've got, just in two days." He started emptying his various pockets, revealing money, string, a pocket knife, a black notebook, a calculator, a magazine, and a pair of sunglasses (not the missing ones).  
  
"Ben, I wish you wouldn't wander around the streets while I'm out," said Zack. "Anything could happen to you out there."  
  
"H is going to show me how to defend myself. Aren't you, H? H?" He suddenly realized that his new friend wasn't paying attention. His head had come up and tilted slightly, listening. In the next instant, he stood up and went to the window, pressing himself flat against the wall, looking through the gap at the edge of the curtain. Even while they had been talking, his mind was automatically registering details, soaking up the surroundings. People coming and going to the motel rooms, distant car horns, and a car that drove by slowly but did not stop. Twice, at brief intervals. The same car, with a slightly squeaky fan belt.  
  
"H?" Zack was puzzled, too.  
  
"Be quiet a minute," he said. The voice wasn't sharp, but the authority set the conversation on a different level. Zack and Ben instantly became serious. Everyone waited. Finally, here came the car again, driving by slowly. Two people in it, noting the cars, hesitating at the Pinto, looking toward the room. Toward -this- room. Drug gang members. He was certain of it, even though he couldn't remember where he'd learned so much about drug gang members. Staking out this room while waiting for reinforcements, circling the block to try to avoid suspicion that a parked car would raise. When the rest of the gang arrived, when the traffic grew less and it started to get dark, they would take action. He wondered which of the three of them they were after and why. Could be any one of them, even Ben the scavenger. Who could know what he had seen, not realizing the significance, out on the streets? Zack might have seen something, too. And he himself could be a rival gang member for all he knew. That might explain his extensive knowledge of illegal activity. One thing was clear, though. One of the three of them was in danger. And until he was certain it wasn't the boys, he couldn't abandon them. Not even to try to find his wife again. He turned back to Zack, and the laser light in his eyes had ignited again, a low but steady stream. "Give me the car keys," he said. "We're getting out of this room, now." Zack looked at him for a minute, then, without question, handed over the keys to the Pinto. 


	3. Blackout 3

"The night is dark, and I am far from home."  
  
John Newman  
  
***  
  
The man and the two boys pressed flat against the wall of the motel room, waiting. Zack and Ben were tense, uncertain, but calm and competence seeped out of H like water welling up out of a spring, spilling over onto the others. He knew exactly what he was doing, and everyone there, including himself on some distant level, drew comfort from it. "As soon as they come by again and round the corner, we move." His voice was quiet but absolutely clear as he laid out the plan. "Head for the car as fast as you can. Ben in the back seat, Zack in front. The minute you get in the car, get down and don't stick your head up until I tell you. We'll have about 2 minutes to get a lead on them before they find out we're gone."  
  
"Is that enough?" asked Zack.  
  
"It will have to be."  
  
"What do they want, H?" Ben couldn't understand it.  
  
"I don't know." Actually, his mind had already started to narrow down possibilities. For Zack, something could have somehow been hidden in the car. For Ben, the notebook and the magazine stood out from his findings like a beacon. Later, when he had an opportunity, he would inspect both of them. As for himself, the possibilities were endless. He was surprised, too, at the contempt he felt for the gang. Why did he hate drug gangs so? Not just the damage they caused, but the gang members themselves, almost personally.  
  
The car drove by again, slowly, the driver trying to look nonchalant. The instant it rounded the corner, H opened the room door smoothly. "Now." They ran straight to the car, and it was started and pulling out in only 30 seconds. H started down the street the same direction the car had vanished, of course, but at the corner, he turned the other way and sped up as much as he could. Right turn, left turn, always heading south for some reason, but laying a confused trail. Traffic was still not moving normally, but it was much better this evening. Many cars were now off the street, people simply not driving until the traffic lights were working again. His eyes scanned the rearview mirror, but there was no sign of the other car. Maybe they had made a clean getaway.  
  
Even as he thought it, a screech of brakes was heard, and a car going the other way made a complete U turn, slicing across beeping traffic. Two more gang members, and one of them had a cell phone to his ear. They had run right into the reinforcements on the way, who had recognized the Pinto. "This is not my day," said H softly, but his body was already moving to deal with the emergency. He slammed the accelerator down, weaving in and out of traffic, once actually going up on the sidewalk to get around a log jam. His eyes scanned in all directions at once, though, marking the other cars and the pedestrians, and he never once came close to hitting anyone. They were increasing the gap. He coaxed every ounce out of the little car, handling it like a race car driver at Indy, but the whole time, he was wondering on some level why this car frustrated him so much. Whatever he was used to driving, it out performed the Pinto by a mile.  
  
Zack's head popped up. "How are we doing?"  
  
"Get down. Doing fine." He slipped through a major intersection between two cars going the other way, leaving the astonished officer staring after the Pinto. Their lead was building. Up ahead, he knew, was a parking garage, and that was what he was aiming for. He could see the whole city laid out in his mind like a road map. Left again, and there it was. He turned into the darkened garage and wedged the Pinto into a parking space on ground level between two much bigger cars. Then he leaned over himself, dropping out of the line of sight. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. He made them wait a full hour, although he knew after fifteen minutes that they had lost the gang. Finally, the three of them straightened up.  
  
"Where did you learn to drive like that?" Zack was looking at H with an awed expression that made him appear far younger than 17.  
  
"He doesn't know," Ben said matter-of-factly. "No point in asking him." Smaller, flattened closer to the floor, Ben had seen less of that chase than Zack had and wasn't as awed.  
  
Where had he learned to drive like that? And what had he driven like that? He could almost feel the vehicle, much larger, sturdier, but responsive. Much better suited for emergencies. He wished he had it now. "Sorry, I really don't know," he said.  
  
"What do we do now?" asked Zack.  
  
"We've got to find out what it is they're looking for. Too many puzzle pieces are still missing, and that's a big one. First, though, we need to move. Get out of this section of town entirely. If we sit here long enough for them to look everywhere, we'll lose everything we've gained. Give me your wallet, please, Zack" He did not ask, in front of Ben, how much money Zack actually had, and Zack thanked him silently as he handed it over. H counted the money, his expression giving no clue to the amount, then tucked it back into the wallet and returned it. He started the car again and backed it out smoothly, entering the flow of traffic, blending in, just any other car in the stream. He still wanted to go south, though he didn't know why, and he let himself head that direction. Ben sat back in his seat, looking around the city curiously, but Zack's eyes never left the face of the man driving. Calm, absolutely unruffled, in control. Only the eyes moved, absorbing everything from all angles at once. This wasn't, yet somehow was, too, the same man who had just led a chase straight from the movies, putting Zack's own car through stuff he'd never dreamed it could do. "Who are you?" he said softly, and didn't realize he had spoken out loud until H glanced at him. The blue eyes were warmer suddenly, but sad.  
  
"I wish I knew."  
  
***  
  
An officer on emergency traffic duty in the city was turning over his post at a major intersection to his replacement. "Watch out for idiots tonight," he said. "Earlier, some crazy guy driving a Pinto went barreling through a gap against the traffic that I wouldn't have taken myself. If things weren't so hectic right now, I would've chased him down. No one wrecked, at least."  
  
"Can't catch them all," said the other policeman. "Someone driving that wild, though, won't just stop. Next time, we'll see that he gets his ticket."  
  
"Well, I'm out of here." The first officer, tired from the extra efforts of the last day, trudged out of the intersection toward his own parked car, looking forward to a few brief hours of sleep before hitting the roads again. He was a new graduate from the Police Academy who had been on the job only a month, and he was one of the few on the force who did not know Horatio Caine by sight.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh squatted back on her heels, studying the ground. Just surveying a crime scene, like she did all the time with CSI, but her hands were literally shaking. She and Adele had started from the intersection where Clark had talked to Horatio, where Horatio had spotted someone out of place and headed off east in pursuit. They carefully scouted each turning point off the road east, feeling that whatever happened couldn't have happened far from the intersection. In the third alley, Calleigh found the spot, her trained eyes automatically assessing it.  
  
There was blood here, not a lot, thankfully, but more than from a mere scratch. Blood not more than 12 hours old. And from the pattern, he had been bleeding while lying here for a while. There had been another man, hidden behind the dumpster, who had caught Horatio off guard, attacking from behind, as he chased the first one down the alley.  
  
Adele spoke softly from behind Calleigh. "That's not a whole lot of blood. Not a critical wound, I'd say."  
  
"He is hurt, though." Automatically, she pulled a swab out of her pocket - she always carried a few - and took a sample, capping the swab to be processed later. Just evidence, she told herself. You handle it all the time. When the power came back on and they could run their equipment, they could verify through DNA that this was Horatio's blood, although she already knew it was. She reached forward and carefully picked up the knife lying in the alley, using one of their ever-present Latex gloves to avoid blurring fingerprints. The sun was setting, and shadows stretched over half of the alley. She stood and walked a step to study the knife in the light. "Odd. There doesn't seem to be any blood on this. Of course, you can miss a lot with the naked eye, but still . . . " Her eyes went from the knife to the blood, weighing the two. There should be traces. Unless this wasn't the weapon. She forced her mind to work it out carefully, to miss nothing processing this scene. "He came down the alley, and he was attacked from behind by the second one. They hurt him, but then they left him lying there for a while, bleeding."  
  
Adele frowned in concentration. "That doesn't quite fit. If they wanted to take him hostage, why leave him here for any time? The longer they stay, the more the chance of someone stumbling onto them. But if they just wanted to get away from him and left him here alone, then where is he?"  
  
"Unless there were two groups," said Calleigh. "The first set tackled him. The second set took him hostage. And how does this knife fit into it? If this isn't the weapon, what is?" She turned back toward Adele and stopped suddenly. The setting sun, shifting across the alley, had highlit something at the edge of the light for a minute. She turned back to her former position, then repeated her move more slowly. There it was, a faint glint. She knelt and picked up a hair from the ground, holding it against the sunlight. A red hair. For one second, Calleigh thought she was going to lose it. Her shoulders shuddered, and Adele slipped one arm around her sympathetically. Then the chin came up, and the quivering lip stabilized. Calleigh pulled out an evidence envelope and slowly slipped the hair inside, sealing it tightly so that this much at least could not escape from her. She then carefully wrote the date and time on the front. Just processing evidence. Like any other day at CSI.  
  
***  
  
Guilt is hard to reason with. Eric Delko was sitting in the lab at CSI, carefully calling through his section of the list of emergency workers pulled in to help handle the blackout. His progress down the list was slow, though. His thoughts weren't on the task, and his body, left to perform without his mind, kept grinding to a halt.  
  
If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have been out there alone. The chorus kept repeating through his head. He could tell himself that there was no way he could have known, that whatever had happened still might have happened anyway, but that didn't stop the nagging refrain. Eric was the one who had split them up, who had specifically told Calleigh not to bring Horatio with her. Because he had been ashamed to admit that he had been robbed, like probably a few hundred other people in the city last night. You jerk, he told himself, what did you think he was going to do? Blame it on you? It sounded ridiculous to him now. But this morning, he absolutely could not face the idea of telling H the gold medal had been taken. So, like a coward, he had split Calleigh off, to try to talk her into speaking for him, and Horatio had gone on to face whatever he had run into alone, with no partner for backup.  
  
The gold medal. Eric had never been so touched by a gift in his life, not even from his family. Actually, the more he thought about it, CSI was like another family. And Horatio was like his father, only a father who was proud of him, encouraging his progress, instead of a father whom he had disappointed by refusing to go into the family business when he knew his heart wasn't in it. It was Horatio's opinion of him that really mattered to Eric. It was Horatio himself that mattered to Eric. The medal was only a symbol. Did you really think things would change? Did you really think he would be disappointed in you? You were robbed, Eric. You couldn't help it. But you weren't strong enough to tell him. "Calleigh probably hates me," he said to himself aloud.  
  
"Why would Calleigh hate you?" Eric jumped a mile. He hadn't heard Speed come up behind him.  
  
"Because it's my fault," he said flatly. His usual fun-loving expression had vanished.  
  
Speed never showed much expression at anything, but this statement brought some confusion into his eyes. "Run that by me again. How is it your fault?"  
  
"I split them up, because of the medal. He wouldn't have been out there alone if I hadn't told Calleigh not to bring him."  
  
"The medal? You've totally lost me." Speed really didn't have any idea what his friend was talking about, and Eric saw it. And that confused Eric.  
  
"She didn't tell you?"  
  
"Tell me what?"  
  
Eric started from the beginning of the day, which seemed an eternity ago. Speed absorbed all of it. When he was sure his friend was done, he shook his head. "Look, Eric, I swear, it hasn't even crossed her mind. No one could blame you. If she's blaming anybody, she's blaming herself for taking his ID away from him and the captain for not reporting the escaped prisoners. All this morning, when we were checking over the house and making lists of people to call, she never even mentioned you calling her away from him. Not once."  
  
"All right then, she probably -will- hate me, as soon as she gets around to thinking it through." Eric refused to be comforted. Speed gave up on it. No point in banging against a brick wall that he wasn't going to be able make a dent in. Calleigh would have to straighten Eric out herself.  
  
"Look, man," said Speed, changing the subject, "I've got a lead. I've been talking with the phone company. Three calls have been made on H's cell phone today since 7:30, all to the same number. We have an address for that number, and I'm about to meet Tripp and head over there. Maybe it'll lead us back to the people with the phone. Want to come along?"  
  
Anything beat sitting here kicking himself. "Sure. Let's go." The two friends left CSI.  
  
***  
  
Absolute darkness blanketed the city for the second night in a row. H sat in a motel room in another scruffy motel clear across the city from the first one. He had turned the chair around so he could see out the window, and he meant to stay there all night, keeping guard. The Pinto was parked way on the other side of the lot, tucked between two vans, nowhere near their room. Still, he couldn't relax, even though they probably wouldn't be found here. His mind had too many things to work through, jumping from one topic to another like a restless cat in a room of laps, unable to settle on just one.  
  
Bedsprings creaked behind him, and Zack approached softly. "H?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I just can't get to sleep." Zack stood next to the chair, looking out the window himself. "What's going on?"  
  
"Is Ben asleep?"  
  
"Yes." Zack dropped his voice a few volume levels. H had been speaking softly anyway.  
  
"One of us has something that drug gang wants. Tomorrow, as soon as it's light enough, I'm going to search your car. Something might have been stashed in it somehow, ditching the evidence in a tight spot, and then you moved the car before they could retrieve it. Or Ben might have found something. I want to look at his collection in the morning, too. That notebook has possibilities. So does the magazine. I don't want to waste our flashlight batteries, though, looking at them tonight. We could need the light later. I think we're safe for the moment." He could barely see Zack in the darkness. "They also could want me for some reason. Maybe I've got information on them, and I can't remember it. Maybe I'm a rival gang leader."  
  
Zack snorted. "You aren't a gang leader. You do know some interesting stuff, though. Maybe you do have info on them."  
  
"If I could just remember . . . " The voice was edged with quiet but intense frustration.  
  
"It'll probably come back in a day or two. It usually does in the movies."  
  
The silence lengthened for a few minutes before H broke it. "What about you? Who are you? Who is Ben? And what are you doing alone here?"  
  
Zack started to shut him off and couldn't. Something about H invited confidences. And this man had probably saved his life and Ben's today, had definitely saved Ben this morning. He was glad it was dark, though. Somehow it was easier to talk in the darkness, when you couldn't see the other person's face. "We're from upstate a bit. A small town. My parents were killed in a car accident three months ago. Ben and I were put into a home. No other relatives. But the man who ran the home didn't like us. He said we'd been spoiled too much, no discipline. He was a Marine. He runs that place like boot camp. Last week, I couldn't take it anymore. So I thought I could get a job in the city, take care of Ben. We ran away. I'll take care of us somehow."  
  
H was riveted. Why did this story touch him so much? The boy left totally alone at 17, trying to cope, trying to take care of his brother. His heart went out to them. But at the same time, he knew that it wouldn't work. "Zack, you've got to have some help."  
  
The boy's entire body went stiff with denial. "I can take care of us."  
  
"Not alone. And you shouldn't have to. It's too much for a 17-year-old to deal with."  
  
"I can handle it. How do you know it won't work, anyway? You don't even know your own name."  
  
How did he know? Suddenly, with blinding intensity, a picture flashed on his consciousness. A room absolutely torn apart in a struggle, with a body torn apart even worse in the floor. His mother. She had been murdered. And he and his brother had been left alone. When he was 17. He was certain of it, but he still could not recall the names.  
  
Zack heard his sharply indrawn breath. "What is it?" He edged back a bit closer, forgetting his annoyance momentarily.  
  
"I do know. My mother was killed when I was 17. And I had a younger brother. I tried to take care of us." I had a younger brother, he thought. Yes, the past tense was correct there. What had happened to him? What was his name? "Zack, it's too much for a 17-year-old kid. I've been there myself. You can't do it alone."  
  
"Did you remember that? About your mother?"  
  
"Yes. Just now. But I can't get the names." The edge of frustration was back in his voice. "Listen, Zack, you don't have to go back to that town, especially if you don't have any relatives there. You could stay in Miami. Not all homes are bad. You do need help with things, though. For Ben's sake, as well as yours. And in Miami, I'd be here. I could keep in contact."  
  
Zack dropped into stubborn silence. He wasn't convinced. Rather, he knew that H was right, but he didn't want to be convinced. They stood there for a while in silence until Zack surprised himself by yawning. "Are you going to bed, H?"  
  
"In a bit. Why don't you go on?" He had no intention of it. He would stay on guard here, in case the gang found them. Besides, he had slept for several hours earlier in the day.  
  
Zack hesitated. Having just declared his independence, he hated to go off to sleep and leave an adult in charge. But he was tired. And it was comforting, somehow, to have H in charge. "I think I will," he said finally. "Good night, H."  
  
"Good night, Zack." The boy padded off into the dark room, and again the bedsprings creaked. He sat there alone looking out into the blacked out city. His mother. His brother. His wife. He could remember all of them now, but not the names. He had wished for his wife earlier, when they were running from the gang. A good person to have with you in a tight spot. He was sure they had been in several together. If he had only had her with him, and a gun for each of them, and the vehicle that he missed driving so much on that chase, he would have turned around and taken the gang down right there. They could have done it, he knew. The two of them against the gang. No contest.  
  
But there had been the kids to consider. That was his biggest concern at the moment. If the gang was after one of the kids, he had to protect them. But if the gang was after him, his presence was endangering them. Tomorrow morning, when he had enough light, he would find out what they were after, which one of them they wanted. If it was him, he would have to split off and deal with it himself. But he knew Zack needed help, too, even apart from the gang. A 17-year-old kid, left alone with his brother and with the weight of the world on him. He absolutely remembered that feeling. Being alone. Even after there were friends, helpers, even after he had acknowledged that it was too much and accepted help with the situation, he had still really been alone. Until her.  
  
He tried to call her up in his mind's eye again. Small but dynamic, golden hair, a voice with a slight southern accent. He still could not quite see her face. He knew that she liked guns, that he liked them himself, hardly surprising given how violent many of his returning memories were. Had they been a team of outlaws, like Bonnie and Clyde? No, that was totally wrong. He knew it. But every time he tried to latch onto a name, a face, some exact detail, he was left grasping at shadows. The night grew old as he sat there on guard, watching the darkened city, chasing his own darkened memories into dead ends. There was absolutely no light. 


	4. Blackout 4

"Beyond the night, across the day,  
  
Through all the world, she followed him."  
  
Alfred, Lord Tennyson  
  
***  
  
"Calleigh, we've got to quit for the night." Adele's voice was quiet, sympathetic but realistic. Calleigh shook her flashlight impatiently as if she could turn it into a sun by wishing. She and Adele were doing an expanding search around the alley where Horatio had been attacked, covering every square foot of ground, talking to every person they encountered. But the darkness had beaten them.  
  
"We're missing too much," Adele insisted. "We'd just have to cover all this ground over again in the morning. And half the people won't answer a knock on the door as it gets later. We can't do anything more tonight."  
  
Calleigh sighed and reluctantly came to a halt. "I know. You're right." Every second might count for Horatio, but Adele was right. No point in doing a sketchy search. "Have you heard any idea when the power will be back on?"  
  
"The word is Monday, best guess. Probably nothing tomorrow. It's the weekend, you know. That makes it harder to get parts to repair equipment."  
  
Monday. Sunday stretched between now and then like the Grand Canyon. Calleigh didn't know if she could stand another 24 hours of this.  
  
"Come on, I'll take you home." Adele turned back toward the spot where her car was parked.  
  
Home. Calleigh suddenly couldn't face it. It had been Horatio's home for fifteen years before it had become hers, too. The house was saturated with him. That was precisely why she loved it, and precisely why she couldn't bear to go back to it alone. "Thanks, Adele, but I'd rather go to CSI."  
  
"There's nothing more you can do tonight. And you need some rest. You won't be worth anything tomorrow otherwise."  
  
"I know, I just can't go back there alone. I'm not going to work. I'll get some rest, I promise."  
  
"Okay, I'll take you back to the office." As they got into Adele's car, Calleigh suddenly noticed in the interior lights how tired Adele looked. She had pulled extra duty last night, too, and had spent as much effort searching for Horatio today as any of them.  
  
"Thanks for your help today, Adele. You get some rest, too."  
  
Adele squeezed her arm. "I will. And tomorrow, we'll keep looking. We'll find him."  
  
There was nothing further to say after that. They drove back to CSI in silence, and Adele let her off at the front door. The building seemed deserted. Where were Speed and Delko? Her steps carried her automatically toward Horatio's office. Not quite as bad as the house, at least. His personality was here, too, but not the intimacy.  
  
Something else was here. Something that suddenly jumped out at her attention. A thermos sitting on his desk, next to a plate, with a note tucked underneath. Calleigh crossed to the desk and pulled out the note.  
  
"Calleigh, no luck calling through my section of the list. I'm going home to take care of my family, but I'll be back at it with you tomorrow. Hot coffee in the thermos, sandwiches on the plate. Try to get a little rest. Alexx."  
  
Calleigh smiled in spite of herself. Alexx. Adele. The boys. All of Horatio's friends were with her, helping her search for him. Feeling a little less alone, she sat at his desk and polished off the sandwiches and the coffee, stunned to find how hungry she was. After she was finished, she picked up the picture from their honeymoon again and studied him, trying to see him through a stranger's eyes. The flaming hair, the chiseled features, the dazzling eyes. Anyone would remember him. Surely someone had to have seen him. They just hadn't asked the right person yet.  
  
She got up and wandered over to the couch, taking the picture with her. Adele was right; she had to get some sleep. This day had worn her down like no other case she could remember working at CSI. The idea seemed impossible, though. Lying down here, while he was out there facing God alone knew what. She wondered where he was tonight. If he was sleeping. If he had had anything to eat. She was sure no one had brought him hot coffee. She studied the picture again, then held it tightly to her chest and closed her eyes. She could still see it projected on her mind. Horatio. The two of them together. Happy, facing the future hand-in-hand. It couldn't be over. "It isn't over," she said out loud. "Horatio, wherever you are, don't you dare give up on me. I'm not giving up on you." She wondered if he would dream of her tonight. Determined to dream of him, she let herself drift off, holding tightly to his picture like a lifeline.  
  
***  
  
He was calling her. His eyes shining like lighthouses of love, his hands reaching out toward her, his unforgettable voice calling her name. "Calleigh."  
  
"Calleigh." The voice suddenly changed completely. Not his voice after all. And the hands on her shoulder were not his hands. "Calleigh."  
  
She opened her eyes reluctantly, exchanging Horatio for . . . "Eric?"  
  
"Yeah. Wake up."  
  
"What time is it?" She sat up on the couch.  
  
"About 6:30." His eyes were red-rimmed, tired, but excited. And something else, too, that she couldn't put a finger on. "We've got a lead."  
  
She hit her feet instantly. "What is it?"  
  
"Speed found out that someone had been using Horatio's cell phone, and we went to the number they called. Found a small-time punk who was a friend of one of the escaped prisoners. They did time together before. His friend had called him yesterday, wanted him to get a gun, set up a meeting to pick it up. 4:30 this morning. They waited until everything was dead to come out of their hideout. We staked the place out all night with Tripp, and we've got two of them."  
  
"Horatio?" No other words would come just then.  
  
His eyes fell. "No. They aren't talking. But they are involved. They've got his cell phone and his sunglasses. No way around that. We've got them back at headquarters now, split up in two witness rooms. We're letting them sweat for a bit, then we'll question them. See if we can break one and get anything on H. Do you want to be there?"  
  
Stupid question. "You couldn't keep me away." She started for the door, determination in every step.  
  
"Calleigh." Something about Eric's tone stopped her before she reached the door. She turned back to face him across the gap.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
He couldn't meet her eyes. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."  
  
"Sorry for what?"  
  
"Sorry I split you up. If I hadn't been afraid to talk to him yesterday morning, none of this would have happened."  
  
She took a few steps back toward him. "Eric, it isn't your fault."  
  
"He wouldn't have been alone if I hadn't called you," he insisted stubbornly.  
  
She bridged the rest of the gap and touched him lightly on the arm. "Eric, Adele and I spent yesterday finding where he was attacked, how it happened. We've got the crime scene now. And this is the biggest string of coincidences I've ever seen. Everything building to put him right there, but you can't possibly pull out one piece and say that one is where the blame is. Not you calling me. Not even me taking his ID from him. I still can't believe I did that, though." She was still furious with herself, thinking about it.  
  
Eric found himself comforting her in turn. "It probably didn't matter." She looked up at him. "I just didn't want him to be disappointed in me."  
  
"Eric, you were robbed. He wouldn't blame you."  
  
"I know. I know now. I just didn't think about it then." He sighed. "I don't even care about the medal anymore. I just want him to be okay."  
  
"So do I. Nothing else matters." They stood there in silence for a minute, face to face. "I'm not blaming you, though, for yesterday. You know, that medal really wasn't a gift. You earned it, Eric. You saved his life. And I will always thank you for that. Even if . . . " She couldn't finish the sentence. Her blue eyes were swimming suddenly, tears teetering on the brink. Eric, his own eyes moist, suddenly hugged her. For a long moment, they held each other, reassuring each other. Then Eric broke away.  
  
"Come on," he said. "Let's go break these punks and find him." With one fierce purpose, they left the office together.  
  
***  
  
Morning light spilled through the hotel room as Ben woke up. He looked for H automatically, finding him over by the window, exactly where he had been last night, almost as if he hadn't moved. He was looking out the window, but his eyes were focused on something far out of sight. He felt Ben's movement, though, and turned to smile at him. "Good morning."  
  
"Morning, H." Ben swung his feet off the bed to the floor. Zack was still asleep, dead to the world on the second bed, and Ben tiptoed past him to the window. "Still no power?" he asked softly.  
  
"Nothing. It probably won't come back on today, either. This is Sunday. Too hard to get everything repaired over the weekend."  
  
"What's for breakfast?" Ben yawned.  
  
"Your choice. Peanut butter sandwiches or peanut butter sandwiches?"  
  
"I'll take peanut butter sandwiches." They grinned at each other. Ben picked up the remainder of their loaf of bread and removed the twist tie. "There's only four pieces left. We can't get three sandwiches out of that."  
  
"I already had one." It was a lie, but Ben took it at face value, making a sandwich for himself, tucking the other two pieces back into the plastic bag for Zack. They absolutely had to get more money. Zack's meager savings were almost gone. Still, there were several things that topped it on the list for today. H tackled the first one.  
  
"Ben, I'd like to see your collection of things you've found again, if I could."  
  
"Sure." Ben started emptying his pockets. "Wait a minute, it's not all here."  
  
H picked up the magazine. "Where's the notebook?"  
  
"I dunno. Honest. I had it yesterday."  
  
"Think back. You were showing me what you'd found in that other motel room. That was right before the gang came. Did you drop it, maybe?"  
  
"Yeah, that's right. I was stuffing everything back in my pockets in a hurry. I bet it fell right next to the bed." Their eyes met. "That means the gang has it, doesn't it?"  
  
"I don't think so. I doubt they searched the room thoroughly, if at all. They know we left." And the gang would assume that whatever the desired object was, it was with them. That chase had been too frantic. The gang now thought that the three of them knew everything. I wish we did, H thought. On the other hand, assuming that they weren't after the magazine or Zack's car, it had to be either the notebook or H himself. This might be a perfect opportunity to work out which one. Park the boys somewhere safe, go back on his own for the notebook, and if the notebook was innocent, it had to be him. He could see if the gang reacted to him alone. Probably there would be a lookout posted on that room. Not one of their best people, though, because no one would expect them to return, not the way they had barreled out of there. Either way, it would be much safer for the boys this way. He wouldn't tell them, but it was time to split up. Whether they wanted the notebook or himself, he would deal with it alone. As he thought it, he heard her voice again in his head, this time saying, "I don't want you out there without backup." When had she told him that? She always went along with him into tight spots. Equal partners. "If you were here, it would be different," he said aloud.  
  
"What?" Ben was puzzled.  
  
"Never mind. Let me see that magazine." He flipped through it thoroughly while Ben was eating, but it was exactly what it appeared to be. Zack woke up then, and while he stayed with Ben, H went across the parking lot to search the car. He did this thoroughly, surprised at how much he registered. Where had he searched cars before? He saw every half-eaten fry on the floor, coins, dust. He seemed to be trained in minutia. This was so familiar that he almost expected other people to join him in the search, to be waiting to share findings with him, working out what they meant. What they meant in this case was nothing, though. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew it wasn't there. Nothing had been concealed by a drug gang in the Pinto.  
  
He sat in the car for a few minutes after he was finished, thinking the day through. First priority, keep the kids safe. Second priority, find out what the gang was after. The answer to that one would determine what he did next. They also needed more money, and he still desperately wanted to find out more about himself, but cracking this case had to be the top priority today. He finalized the day's agenda, then got out, turning back for the motel room, and for a moment, he could almost feel other people around him, being briefed on the plans for the day, heading out to work together. The familiarity of all of this tantalized him, distracting him for a few seconds from his careful itinerary. "Who am I?" he asked the Pinto. "Where have I done this before?" The car did not answer him.  
  
***  
  
Calleigh, Eric, Speed, Adele, Alexx, Laura, and four other CSIs pressed against the one-way mirror looking into the interview room. It was so crowded in the observation area that they kept bumping into each other. No one apologized, and no one left. They were all riveted. Riveted and frustrated.  
  
"We know you're involved," Tripp started again. He leaned over the table, deliberately letting his physical presence, his authority sink into the recaptured escapee who sat on the other side. "When did you take his cell phone from him?"  
  
The con looked up at him with the relaxed grin of someone who has nothing to lose, who knows that there is no hard proof. "I'm telling you, man, I found it. Just found it in the street. Whoever tackled your friend, it wasn't me. Yeah, I made a few calls. So what? Anyone else coming along, finding it, would've done the same thing."  
  
"This is getting nowhere," fumed Calleigh.  
  
"He knows he's back inside anyway," said Adele. "Original charges, plus escape. He's not going to make it worse for himself unless we have an eye witness."  
  
"He's lying." Speed was certain.  
  
"Sure he's lying, but we can't choke it out of him." Eric longed for the chance to try, though. Just one minute in a back alley instead of the station, without that badge that bound him to a code of conduct. He'd get to the truth.  
  
"The other one isn't any better," said Alexx. They had hoped that splitting up the two escapees would make them nervous, break their confidence. It wasn't working. Both had stuck to the same story through hours of questioning. They had simply found the phone and the sunglasses.  
  
"Wait a minute." An idea struck. Calleigh, chin up, with the light of battle in her eyes, worked through the pack of watchers and opened the door to the interrogation room. "Tripp, you can stop wasting time with this one."  
  
"What?" He looked up at her, confused.  
  
"The other one's ready to deal. He was only tagging along, anyway. It's this one who tackled Horatio, and he's ready to testify against him for lighter charges."  
  
"What?" The con sat straight up, his relaxed pose shattering.  
  
Tripp understood instantly. "Great, let's stop wasting our time here." He started toward the door.  
  
"Wait a minute, you can't pin that on me. It was his idea. And he's the one who hit him."  
  
Tripp hesitated at the door. "I thought you hadn't even seen him. We'll talk to your partner. His memory's better."  
  
The punk stood up, and the guard against the wall took a step forward, pushing him gently back down. "He can't do that, the dirty rat! Wait, I'll talk. I want to deal, too."  
  
"You've got two minutes," said Calleigh, crossing her arms and trying to look bored as she leaned against the door.  
  
"Okay, we were looking for a hideout, early yesterday morning. An empty building or something. I was moving through the crowd, looking for a wallet to lift, when Caine spotted me. I'd run into him a couple of times before. He started after me, and I took off. Wilson and I were going to meet in an alley. So I ran down there and just had time to warn Wilson. He ducked behind the dumpster just before Caine started down the alley. I had a knife. I stopped by the dumpster, and he came after me. Don't think he was armed, though. He was watching the knife. So Wilson jumped out behind him, and I took a slash just to keep his eyes on me. Wilson hit him over the head, and he dropped like a rock. I was just seeing if he had a wallet to lift, and I took the cell phone and sunglasses. Started on his watch, and Wilson yelled at me to get the hell out before someone saw us. So I left him, and we hid. Made a few calls through the day, like I said, but I never saw Caine after we left him there."  
  
"You're lying," said Tripp. "You took him with you. Where?"  
  
"I swear, man, we left him. I don't know where he went."  
  
"You're accessory, you know, if we don't find him. Or if he dies. Kill someone in the act of a crime, and it's murder one. You'd go to the chair for that."  
  
The punk bolted out of his chair again. Sweat was beading on his forehead. "We left him there! You got to believe me, man. I don't know where he is."  
  
Tripp's eyes met Calleigh's and concurred. This crook was, finally, telling the truth. Calleigh just didn't want to believe it. Not an answer, after all. Just more questions. "Was he alive when you left him?" She hated to ask it but had to.  
  
"Yeah, he was breathing. Totally out, though. But I swear, it was Wilson who hit him over the head."  
  
"He was bleeding."  
  
"I caught him with the knife, as he fell. Cut his arm pretty deep. I swear, though, he was alive. We weren't trying to kill him. We just wanted out of there."  
  
Calleigh glared at him for a moment, and the criminal actually backed away from her, bumping into the guard behind him. Afraid of what she might do, she whirled suddenly and left the room. Tripp and the guard were still there, but the punk relaxed slightly and let out a breath. He'd hate to meet that little wildcat in a dark alley.  
  
***  
  
H rounded the final corner and approached the first motel. He was on foot, the Pinto left with the boys at a lot several blocks away. Somehow he knew where this gang's turf ended. He had left the boys over the line. Not that the gang wouldn't chase them if they found them, but they'd be unlikely to spot them there. Now, for the lookout. He let his eyes scan the lot, absorbing everything. Like searching the car earlier, he knew this routine. He spotted the lookout instantly, just one, like he'd expected. Now, time to bring himself to his attention, to see if it was himself they wanted, or the notebook. Reassured that there was just one, he wasn't worried for himself. He could get an answer here, without much risk. He started across the lot toward the car where the lookout waited, trying to hide behind a magazine.  
  
What happened next stunned H. The lookout spotted him alright, as he came closer. The magazine dropped, and his jaw literally fell open. For one second, their eyes met, and H saw the recognition, and the respect, and the fear. Then the car peeled out of the lot, burning rubber as the gang member bolted.  
  
What the hell? He'd expected either indifference or interest, but he hadn't expected the man to recognize him, not as anything more than the person they were looking for, if in fact he was the person they were looking for. This went far beyond that. The gang member knew him. H felt an absurd impulse to chase him down so he could discover his name. This man knew it, he was sure.  
  
He stood in the middle of the parking lot until a car hit its horn, then moved aside apologetically, heading for the motel room. Might as well check the notebook. He didn't know what to make of this. That hadn't been the reaction of someone who sees the target, but of someone who sees a well- known and respected enemy. He knew now that he wasn't a rival gang leader. That wouldn't draw that level of respect mixed with fear.  
  
He opened the door with Zack's key and entered the room. The notebook was there, half hidden under the edge of the bedspread, and he carried it across to the chair by the window, where he could study it while keeping an eye on things outside. The minute he opened the notebook, he knew this was what they wanted. All in code, of course, but there were names, dates, details of drug deals. An intelligence goldmine. He had seen a notebook like this recently. Had spent hours decoding it, going over each symbol. Not this one, but similar.  
  
He was a cop. The realization wasn't based on memory but on all the puzzle pieces suddenly snapping together in the only way they could fit. He had to be a cop. And he had worked on cases with drug gangs, and the gangs knew him. That was where he had learned self-defense, and search procedure, and chase driving, and where he had seen so much violence. Yes, he was certain of it. That made his decision easier. What he had to do first was to rejoin the boys, knowing now that it was Ben they were after, then head for the nearest police station. He would turn over the evidence, and somewhere on the force, there had to be people who knew him. The end of this whole ordeal was in sight.  
  
He pocketed the notebook and left the room, scanning quickly. No sign of the lookout. He was so eager to get to the police, to get some answers, that he picked up a brisk run. He was dressed for it, after all. Sweats and running shoes. He did not head directly for the boys, laying down a winding course, but his footfalls came faster and faster. He finally knew where he was going and what he needed to do.  
  
She often ran with him. He remembered her fierce competitiveness, pounding alongside him on her shorter legs, refusing to admit defeat until she had to laugh at herself. And he would laugh with her. Suddenly, remembering it, he saw her face clearly. The flood of memories increased with his pace. Straightforward blue eyes, unfailing directness. "You can have a better run without me anyway," she had said. Sending him running on without her, the last time they ran. Then calling him back, because she had forgotten her keys, and he had tossed her his wallet. Telling her he would see her later.  
  
Calleigh.  
  
Horatio was hit with a wave of relief so sudden, so overpowering that it almost literally knocked him over. He remembered it. All of it. His footsteps singing, he pounded toward the warehouse lot where he had left the boys. They were getting out of here. Everything was going to be okay now. He rounded the last corner and hit a dead stop. They weren't there.  
  
A horn honked behind him. "H!" The Pinto swung into the lot, and he crossed to the driver's side, suddenly furious.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
Zack flinched in the face of his anger. "You told us not to go anywhere close to the motel. We just went down to a grocery store and back. Ben was hungry."  
  
"You've been driving around? What if they spotted you?"  
  
"No one saw us. I watched." Right, a 17-year-old kid who wasn't even streetwise. Horatio wanted to shake him. No point in it, though. Any damage had already been done. And there were more urgent things to deal with now.  
  
"Give me your change, Zack."  
  
***  
  
Tripp exited the second interrogation room and collided with the pack of observers outside. "You heard him. Same story."  
  
Calleigh sighed. "I think they're telling the truth. They just left him there. But where is he?"  
  
"Someone else must have gotten him," said Speed.  
  
"Either that, or he was really hurt worse than they thought, and he crawled off somewhere." Calleigh cringed at the image, but she couldn't get it out of her mind. "Alexx, will you tell me the truth about something?"  
  
"Of course, honey." The ME's warm eyes were direct and honest as always.  
  
"This one hit Horatio over the head. You know how badly he was hurt when that bridge collapsed. Could getting hit on the head again undo all that repair work? Start internal bleeding again?"  
  
Alexx's eyes half fell. The hesitation gave Calleigh the answer, even before her friend reluctantly spoke. "It would depend on the precise spot he was hit. A direct blow in the same area could be devastating." She hated herself for saying it. But Alexx couldn't lie, especially not to Calleigh.  
  
Calleigh looked at her watch. It was 5:00 PM. They had spent all day breaking the two escapees, getting their story. "It won't be dark for a few hours. We ought to keep searching." Her chin was up, her eyes defying any of them to disagree.  
  
"Good idea," said Eric. "Let's go."  
  
The ringing of a cell phone startled all of them. Everyone simultaneously reached for theirs, but it was Calleigh who hit the button. "Calleigh Caine."  
  
"Calleigh."  
  
"Horatio!" It came out as a shriek. She nearly dropped the phone. The others crowded in, all trying to get an ear to the receiver. "Horatio, are you okay?"  
  
He paused long enough to push her worries into double time. "I am now," he said after a second. "Are you okay? Calleigh, I'm so sorry. . . "  
  
She mowed straight across his apology, too elated to be annoyed at him. "Horatio, where are you?"  
  
"I'm at a pay phone." He gave her the address. "I have some evidence, too, on the Red Terrors. I think we've got enough to take them down."  
  
Calleigh rolled her eyes. Only Horatio could spend two days in a black hole and take down a drug gang doing it. "Stay right where you are. We'll. . . " She broke off as another voice, an agitated voice, was heard in the background.  
  
"H! There's a whole army coming this way!"  
  
Horatio turned away from the receiver, but she could still hear him, his voice as smooth and even as ever. "Zack, take Ben and hide somewhere. Not in the Pinto. Get down and stay down. Don't come out until I call you. I've got what they want, and I'll hold them." Sputtering disagreement sounded in the background. "Now, Zack. Take care of Ben. I'm counting on you." He turned back to the receiver. "Calleigh, I've got to go. Send reinforcements; I'm going to need them. I love you."  
  
"Horatio!" She was talking to a dead line. Her feet were already moving as she pushed end. She headed for the garage at a gallop, her mind working out distances. About 15 minutes, with sirens. Hang on, Horatio.  
  
The others raced after her. "Is he okay?" asked Eric.  
  
"He says he is - now - but it sounded like he's about to be in a war zone."  
  
"Let's go!" Adele matched strides with Calleigh heading for the garage. Behind them, on a dead run, came Tripp, Speed, Delko, and, bringing up the rear, Alexx. 


	5. Blackout 5

"But how could I forget thee? Through what power,  
  
Even for the least division of an hour."  
  
William Wordsworth  
  
***  
  
Horatio was pressed against the side of the warehouse, waiting for the gang. The warehouse was the perfect spot to delay things until Calleigh arrived with the troops, but he wanted to be sure the gang saw him. He had to keep them too occupied to wonder about Zack and Ben. Horatio himself knew where they were, hiding behind a dumpster at a building on the other side of the intersection. At all costs, he had to lead the gang toward him. He only hoped that Zack's responsibility to Ben would outweigh his impulsiveness.  
  
Here they came, several cars swarming down the street, homing in on the Pinto. Horatio looked at his watch, gauging time, then deliberately slipped through the door into the warehouse and let it bang shut behind him. He paused long enough to peer back through the gap, making sure that they had seen the movement. Once he was sure they were coming, he melted into the shadows. The warehouse was lit only by the setting sun through skylights at this point, and that light wouldn't last much longer.  
  
They poured through the door, trying to look pugnacious and cautious at the same time. Twelve, he counted. Most with guns.  
  
"You sure they came this way?" Horatio deliberately tripped over a box, and the crash echoed through the steel building.  
  
"Split up," the leader commanded. "Come from each side, and pin `em between us. And you, find the back door. They ain't getting out of here alive."  
  
Horatio flattened himself against a crate. Perfect. Dividing them up would make them that much easier to pick off. He heard the first one coming now. The gang member never knew what hit him. Horatio relieved him of his gun, then vanished into the shadows again. Drug gangs were used to frontal assaults. Drive-by shootings, face-to-face battle with other gangs. It was the main reason he had chosen this place. The maze would throw them off their routine. Two members down, ten left. Three down. He had just hit the fourth when his luck began to run out.  
  
"There they are!" A shot whined through the space where Horatio had been a second earlier, hitting a crate, sending wood chips flying. Horatio scrambled around the next corner, low to the ground, and then went up, climbing the stacks, getting above eye level. He was suddenly grateful that he was wearing track shoes and sweats. He would hate to do this in a suit. Two of them came by in a rush below him, then stopped, puzzled at his disappearance. For the first time, he used one of the captured guns. Four shots, one through each punk's wrists, and they were writhing on the ground, out of commission. In the distance, he heard sirens. Come on, Cal, he thought. I can't hold the fort alone forever.  
  
The other gang members converged on the shots. With half the gang down, six instead of twelve, it was turning into their kind of battle. At least he had evened the odds a bit. He took out another one before the gang realized he was above them. Then, all five remaining, including the leader, had him in their sights. Nowhere left to run. The sirens had been silenced, and he thanked whichever member of the team had that much presence of mind, to come in softly.  
  
"Horatio Caine," sneered the leader. "Heard quite a bit about you."  
  
"Chaz could tell you a few things," said Horatio calmly. He didn't shoot. There was no way he could take out five of them before they got him. The only solution was to stall for time now.  
  
"Chaz is a loser. He made mistakes."  
  
"Mistakes like writing down all his secrets in a notebook." Horatio took it out of his pocket, toying with it, ruffling the pages. "People really should know better."  
  
"Give it to me." Behind the gang, the door slid silently open. Adele, Tripp, Calleigh of course. They were all here, bless them. Horatio continued fiddling with the notebook, keeping their eyes front, as the team fanned out behind.  
  
"I'm sure you'll get a chance to see it again," he said. "The defense is always provided with a copy of the evidence."  
  
"Freeze!" Five guns pressed against five heads, and the gang froze, bewildered, as one man suddenly turned into a whole swarm of cops. Horatio held his position, covering them, until all of the cuffs had clicked into place.  
  
"Seven more down, Tripp. We'll need ambulances." He pocketed his stolen gun and slipped nimbly down the box stacks, reaching ground level half a second before Calleigh reached him. She latched onto him so fiercely that she nearly knocked him over, squeezing the breath out of him, then backing off only long enough to run her hands over his body, feeling for herself that it was intact. He flinched as she hit the right arm, and she ran one hand gently along the bandage, then wrapped both arms around him again, burying herself against him.  
  
"It's okay, Cal." He squeezed her back, letting her feel the strength in him. "It's okay."  
  
She straightened up, pushing away from him a bit but not letting him go. She wondered if she would ever let him go. "Where have you been?" The rest of the team was converging on him now, all asking the same question with their eyes. Even Alexx was here.  
  
"It's a long story, and it's getting dark. Why don't we get the gang taken care of, then head back for CSI. I'll tell all of you at once." He suddenly came to attention himself, backing away from Calleigh. "I totally forgot the boys. Hang on a second." He trotted to the door, all of them following him. "Zack! Ben! Come on out, it's okay." They came slowly, eyeing the police warily, but wanting to see for themselves that Horatio was fine. They had heard the guns.  
  
"Are you okay, H?" Ben attached himself to his free arm, the one Calleigh wasn't holding.  
  
"Fine. Everything's fine now."  
  
"Who. . . " Speed started, and Horatio shut him off with a gesture.  
  
"Like I said, it's a long story. Let's head for the lab."  
  
***  
  
"So I called Calleigh. And the rest you know." Silence reigned for a minute as the story soaked in. They were all in Horatio's office, him behind the desk, where he belonged, Calleigh sitting on the arm of his chair, the others scattered around the room.  
  
Calleigh broke the silence. "I am never going to let you go off jogging without ID again."  
  
"I think I'm going to start taking my gun with me," said Horatio with a grin. "You never know what might happen. Dangerous thing, jogging. Maybe we'd better stick to crime scene investigation."  
  
Alexx hadn't said a word during the whole story, but now she stood up, coming around the other side of his desk, the one Calleigh wasn't on. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair, finding the sore spot, and he flinched slightly. Then, she ran her hands forward, feeling along the old scar and the surgical site a few inches behind it. "I'm fine, Alexx," Horatio protested. He tried to pull away, but Calleigh blocked him from the other side, pinning him between them. "Really. I didn't even have a headache except for the first hour or so." Alexx shifted her attention to his right arm, carefully removing the bandage, then staring at what was underneath.  
  
"You taped it together?" The ME's voice was so intensely quiet it spoke volumes.  
  
"I've been a little busy the last two days," Horatio started, and Ben spoke up from the couch.  
  
"It was my fault. I told him not to go to the hospital. Or the cops."  
  
Alexx carefully peeled the tape circles away and eyed the knife cut. It really did look worse today, Horatio thought, studying it himself. Freed of the tape, it split back apart, and the edges were inflamed and ugly looking. Alexx placed a hand on his arm, feeling the heat in it, then on his forehead. "You haven't got a fever, but it's definitely inflamed locally. You really need to get this tended to and stitched up. And I do think you need to be checked for the head injury, too."  
  
Horatio started to speak, and Calleigh cut him off. "No arguments. Are you going on your own, or do we have to arrest you?" He smiled at her as he stood up.  
  
"You are gorgeous when you're determined, you know that?" She tried to prevent his smile from disarming her but couldn't. Not that he would change her mind.  
  
"I think I'll head home," said Speed, standing up and stretching. "This has been one hell of a weekend."  
  
"Thank you for everything," said Horatio. "All of you. Now, let's all head home."  
  
"You're going to the ER," said Calleigh firmly.  
  
"One other thing," said Horatio, as his eyes rested on Ben and Zack. "Someone needs to call Child Protective Services to report finding two runaways."  
  
Zack stared at him with hopeless, tired defiance. "I hate you," he said, but his tone was soft.  
  
"No, you don't," said Horatio. "I'll be seeing you around, Zack. You, too, Ben."  
  
Ben stood up. "I don't hate you," he said, wrapping both arms around Horatio. "Thanks, H." Horatio squeezed him back, and after a minute, Zack stood up and joined them in a 3-cornered hug.  
  
***  
  
The ER doctor carefully studied Horatio's eyes with his penlight, then switched it off. "I don't think any real damage was done," he said, addressing Calleigh. "The impact was a good four inches from the old surgery site. Thankfully. But if I were you," he said, switching his medical glare to Horatio, "I'd avoid getting hit on the head."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," said Horatio. "Sounds like good advice, in fact."  
  
"I would like to get an MRI, just to make sure everything is stable, but unfortunately, we're still on emergency status, and the generators can only run so much. The MRI machine isn't operational. Power should come back on tomorrow, they say." He addressed Calleigh again. "Do you think you could bring him back tomorrow afternoon for an MRI? Assuming that the power is on, of course."  
  
"He'll be here."  
  
"Meanwhile, he should take it easy. And keep an eye on him."  
  
"I will," she promised. She might never let him out of her sight again.  
  
"Now, about the knife cut," he said, "there's definitely localized infection starting there. We'll give him a shot now, and I want to start antibiotics. It should have been flushed out and stitched two days ago," he said disapprovingly. "We'll get it sewed up and check that again tomorrow afternoon, too. And for tonight, I want you to go home and go to bed."  
  
Going home, Horatio thought. It sounded like the best idea in the world. He was suddenly exhausted, now that it was all over. Poor Calleigh must be exhausted, too. He smiled at her again, reassuring her with his eyes. She must have gone through hell this weekend.  
  
After the cut had been stitched up, Calleigh and Horatio headed out of the ER together. She was still holding onto him, gripping his unbandaged arm like a lifeline. "Now," she started, and he cut her off.  
  
"I think we should take the doctor's advice."  
  
"Really?" She'd expected arguments, even if mild ones.  
  
"Really. We need to go home and go to bed." The inflection in his voice gave it a totally different meaning, and she forced herself to look away from those dazzling eyes. Otherwise, she would lose all capability of thought.  
  
Alexx stood up as they walked through the waiting room. "How is he?" she asked Calleigh, but Horatio answered himself.  
  
"Fine, like I said."  
  
Alexx raised an eyebrow at Calleigh. "They think everything's okay, but they're going to do an MRI tomorrow after the power gets back on. And they put him on antibiotics for the knife cut. We've got to get the prescription filled at the hospital pharmacy upstairs."  
  
"And you two both need some sleep tonight," said Alexx.  
  
"But maybe something to eat first," said Horatio, who hadn't eaten all day and was finally down to noticing it. Calleigh stiffened up instantly.  
  
"Damn. There isn't anything at the house to eat. I was going to go to the store on Saturday. And what little there is in the fridge will be worthless by now."  
  
"Tell you what," said Alexx, "you kids head on home, and I'll swing by my place and pick up some sandwiches and such, then bring them over."  
  
"Thanks, Alexx," said Calleigh. "I couldn't face the store tonight. We've got to pick up that prescription at the pharmacy, then we'll head home. See you there." Alexx departed on her errand of mercy, and Horatio and Calleigh headed upstairs, then, finally, out to her car. They were silent as she pulled out into traffic. Being together again said everything that needed to be said. Horatio leaned his head back against the headrest, watching the city. Still a darkened city, with only the traffic giving light. He felt like everything was right again, though. The whole world back in order. Calleigh was here. His eyes slowly drifted shut.  
  
She steered the car across the city to their house. It seemed an eternity since they had left it together early yesterday morning. She pulled into the driveway, switched off the headlights, and turned to Horatio. He was sound asleep. She loved him with her eyes for a minute. Even his silhouette in the faint moonlight was handsome. She could feel the tiredness in him, had been aware of it even before he had, and briefly, she considered just letting him stay here. She would stay too, of course, and they could just sleep in the car all night. Better not. She got out of the driver's side and went around, opening the passenger's door. She leaned forward, kissing him softly, drawing a line down his beautiful face. His eyelids fluttered. "Come on, handsome," she said. "We're home, and you're too big for me to carry. Let's go in."  
  
He smiled as his eyes opened. "I could carry you, though." He reached for her, and she skipped back nimbly out of reach.  
  
"No way. If you rip those stitches out, I'm putting them back in myself. Without anesthetic."  
  
He got to his feet and reached for her again, hugging her tightly. "I missed you, Cal."  
  
She let herself settle against him, drawing strength from his presence. "I missed you, too." What an understatement, but it said all that needed to be said, somehow. She leaned against him. Maybe they could spend the night standing here together in the driveway. Reluctantly, she broke away after a minute. "Come on, Horatio," she said. Hand in hand, they went up the walk to the door and entered the house together.  
  
"About time. I thought you were never coming home," said Hagen from the darkness.  
  
***  
  
A match flared briefly, and then a candle flickered into life. Hagen was framed on the far edge of the wavering golden circle. Horatio, after one second's surprise, slowly swung the door closed behind them, but did not push it to. He left about a six inch gap. "Hagen, what a surprise," he said, almost as if he had encountered him at a social function. "What are you doing out?"  
  
Hagen was rocked. "You didn't know I'd escaped?"  
  
"Damn it," said Calleigh, "I knew I was forgetting to tell you something."  
  
"No, I had no idea. When did you escape?" asked Horatio amiably.  
  
"Friday night, just after the blackout," he responded. "So all this weekend, while you've been plotting your testimony, thinking how you were going to put me away for good, I was already out."  
  
"I hate to disappoint you, Hagen, but honestly, you haven't even crossed my mind once the last two days." Calleigh snickered, and Hagen felt the old familiar rage rising in his throat. Damn it, these two never had taken him seriously.  
  
He lifted his arm, and the gun glinted in the candlelight. "Well, you're going to notice me now. You're not going to testify, Horatio. Hold it!" Calleigh had slipped one hand surreptitiously toward her pocket, and Hagen caught the movement.  
  
"It's not a gun, just a cell phone," she said. Too bad. Horatio had a point. Maybe she should start carrying her gun all the time, too.  
  
"Take it out slowly, without opening it, and put it on the counter there." He pulled the hammer back for emphasis, and the click echoed coldly in the room. Calleigh slowly crossed over to the counter, and Horatio went with her, sticking close. Hagen turned to keep the gun trained on them.  
  
"Now," he said, after she had put the phone on the counter. "So, you're married now. Well, I hope you took your vows seriously. Especially that part about till death do us part." Calleigh looked around surreptitiously, trying to spot any weapon, form any plan, and Horatio squeezed her hand reassuringly. She met his eyes, and his head tilted about half a degree toward the door, which was now behind Hagen since he had turned. Calleigh followed his thought and saw the door standing slightly open. Alexx, she thought suddenly, and Horatio's eyes caught hers, confirming the thought. Stall for time. Hagen would never shoot them abruptly, anyway. He would want them to feel the nails in the coffin first. He wanted recognition, acknowledgement.  
  
"You'll go to the chair for this, you know," said Horatio, and Hagen's eyes glittered dangerously in the candlelight.  
  
"I'm counting on it. My life is over anyway. You didn't even leave me enough to make a deal."  
  
"Sorry," said Horatio.  
  
"You don't know what prison's like, Horatio. I'm not serving a long sentence. I'd rather die." He raised the gun. "And this way, I get revenge, too."  
  
"What did I ever do to you?" asked Calleigh. She understood his grudge against Horatio, but her?  
  
"You ignored me. You little independent minx! You don't need any man, do you? I wonder how you stand her, Horatio."  
  
The door swung open silently, and Alexx stood there, a sack in one hand, a carton of bottled water in the other. She sized up the situation instantly, silently set the sack down, and gripped the water with both hands. With clinical detachment, she eyed the back of Hagen's head, selecting the best point of impact.  
  
"You've got it wrong, Hagen," said Horatio. "She just didn't need you." Hagen's hand came up as Alexx's came down. He crumpled to the ground as Horatio and Calleigh dodged instinctively, but the gun did not fire. The next instant, they had him, Calleigh kneeling on his back, grabbing the gun, while Horatio removed the curtain ties from the window and roped his hands behind him securely. Then they both looked up at the unflappable ME. She had picked back up the sack of sandwiches. "Good to see you, Alexx," said Horatio.  
  
"Nice to know I'm welcome," she replied. "Did anyone call 911 yet?"  
  
"We were waiting for you," said Calleigh. "Phone's on the counter." Alexx crossed the room, and Horatio and Calleigh, on either side of Hagen, leaned across him for a quick reassuring kiss.  
  
"Calleigh, tell me one thing," said Horatio as they parted.  
  
"Sure, what's that?"  
  
"Is there anything else that's happened this weekend that I need to know about?"  
  
She smiled at him. "Nope. I think all the loose ends are tied up." She studied the knots he had tied admiringly.  
  
Hagen stirred beneath them, and they rolled him over, letting him sit up. "What the hell?" His eyes traveled from one to the other of them, puzzled. "Who hit me?"  
  
"Alexx," said Horatio. Alexx, on the phone, looked over and smiled at the introduction, her teeth flashing in the candlelight. "You just can't win, can you, Hagen? This ought to add some years on your sentence." He flinched internally at the venom in the other man's eyes, but his own held steady. It was Hagen's eyes that fell first. They waited for the police in silence.  
  
***  
  
Horatio, Calleigh, and Alexx sat around the table, finishing sandwiches. "Thank you again, Alexx," said Calleigh.  
  
"Any time," she replied. "I'd better be getting back home, if you two are sure you're safe here alone."  
  
"I think we've encountered our quota of bad guys for the day," said Horatio. Alexx smiled at him, then came across and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  
  
"I'm glad you're back, Horatio. Take care of him, Calleigh."  
  
"I will," she vowed. Alexx left, and the two of them sat there in exhausted silence for a minute.  
  
"Not exactly the relaxing weekend I'd planned," said Calleigh finally.  
  
"You got what you wanted." She looked up at him, surprised. "You wanted to take my mind off the case. Like I told Hagen, I hadn't thought of him once all weekend." His eyes smiled at hers across the table, then went distant slightly. "His trial starts Tuesday."  
  
"No," said Calleigh firmly.  
  
"I'm fine, Cal. And I'd rather get it over with."  
  
"We'll see what the doctor says tomorrow." They sat there a while longer. Almost too much effort to get up and go to bed. Horatio finally stood up.  
  
"If I don't haul myself to bed now, I don't think I'll make it."  
  
"Me either." She pried herself out of her chair and joined him, picking up the flashlights, blowing out the candle. They started down the hall together, but the phone rang. "Go on, I'll get it." She turned back, finding the phone by feel. "Hello?"  
  
"Calleigh, it's Eric."  
  
"Hi, Eric."  
  
"Look, I know it's 2:00 AM, but I just wanted to tell you, I got a call just now from the police. They found my stuff. Including the gold medal."  
  
Calleigh smiled to herself in the dark. "That's great, Eric. I'm glad you've got it back."  
  
"Yeah, me too. Tell H for me, will you?"  
  
"I will. He'll be happy for you."  
  
"Is he okay? What'd the doctor say?"  
  
"He's fine, we think. Just needs some antibiotics and some rest. They're going to do an MRI when the power comes back on, too, but that's just making sure. They think he's okay."  
  
"Great." Silence lengthened for a second. "So everything's okay?" His tone made it a question.  
  
"Everything's okay, Eric. Get some sleep yourself."  
  
"Right. Good night, Calleigh."  
  
"Good night, Eric."  
  
She found her way down the hall into the bedroom. Horatio was stretched out flat on the bed, still fully clothed, dead to the world. She just stood there admiring him for a moment, reassuring herself of his presence. Yes, everything was okay. She crossed to the bed and removed his shoes, then gently undressed him. He never stirred, the only movement his deep, rhythmic breathing. She tucked him in, pulling the sheet over him, then undressed herself and rolled in beside him. Her body craved sleep, but she wanted to watch him a little longer. She snuggled down against him, spooning her body against his, resting in the contact. She had him back. This eternal weekend was over.  
  
Horatio shifted slightly as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tightly against her. "I didn't forget you," he said distantly, without opening his eyes.  
  
"What?" She kissed him gently.  
  
"I didn't forget you. I only forgot your name. I could never forget you." She buried her head in his chest, holding him tightly, listening to the even, reassuring beat of his heart. "Horatio," she said softly, not calling him, just claiming him. He didn't move again. She held herself awake as long as she could, wanting to hold him while he slept, and she never was sure at what point the reality changed into the dream, or if the two were, in fact, the same. 


End file.
